


Mémoire

by ShipperBody



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Drama, F/M, Friendship, Humor, Romance, enjonine - Freeform, mémoire, shipperbody
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-22 11:25:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShipperBody/pseuds/ShipperBody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>mem.o.ry (n. pl. mem.o.ries) [from latin memoria] - the mental faculty of retaining and recalling past experience; the period of time covered by the remembrance or recollection of a person or group of people. Enjolras doesn't remember the barricade and he's broken, obscure and foreign to his own life. As he recovers them gradually, people are swallowed by grief - at least one is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Loss

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Les Misérables fanfiction and I definitely don't own it - which I'm a tiny jealousy of that.  
> Well, I'm so excited with this fic I can't stop thinking about it and writing it, all I have to say this is one of the best ideas I've ever had as plot and I can't help but want to know what is going to happen next! :3  
> So, all I want to say is bear with me! :D  
> Enjoy1 ;)

His dark blue orbs shot open suddenly and he sat quickly on the bed. There was sweat dripping from his face to the white sheets and he felt hard throbs paining the side of his head, behind his right ear.  
He was about to touch the area when a pair of shaky hands grabbed his wrist, ever so slightly, pulling it away from there. A voice called a monsieur physician to come to him, but the lad couldn't make out where things were yet, nor could he say anything because his headache only turned more and more unbearable.  
He saw a man in front of him, then, wearing a white cloak over his white bottom shirt, navy raincoat and black pants - all stained in blood and dust.  
He heard the physician call a name, but he didn't know if the name was his because the throbbing deafened his senses. The man looked anguished at the person holding his wrist, not knowing what to do.  
The blue irises crossed the large room full of candle lights and recovering beds until the figure of a very skinny and tiny mademoiselle, of dark brown locks and big chocolate eyes, was on his sight. She was the one with bony, caressing fingers holding him and she was crying out for the physician, desperately.  
She caught his glimpse towards her and held his eyes for a moment long enough to see the tears and some mixture between relief and melancholia filling those big eyes of hers.  
Although the merged emotions in her eyes, he felt comforted on them, even though he couldn’t quite figure out why.  
Another hard throb - he was out in the next, then.  
•  
He woke up less harshly this time. His eyes lazily opening, sharing the view of a well lit room of cream walls with many open windows and his dark blonde lashes in the way, blocking his eyes from everything else. His head still hurt badly, but not worse than the last time he was conscious.  
He rubbed his eyes, feeling bandages around some of his fingers roughly against his Caucasian skin. He sat slowly in his bed, hearing the sheets complaining in his ears while he gazed the room with five other humble beds, all of them tidy and empty. The beds had the wooden, Christ’s cross over each one of them, hanging on the walls. And by then he doesn’t have to ask anyone where he was, because he knew, as a matter of fact, that room was inside a hospital and something had happened.  
Something extreme and awful, he figured.  
He managed to stand up and he felt the cold stone floor sending shivers through his warm body, but he wasn’t much troubled about it. He just wanted to know what happened. He walked out of the room, then, on a light white robe, nothing else – he double checked the knot keeping him dressed because he knew he’d be very self-conscious if someone else saw him naked.  
He also knew it wasn’t clever walking out a hospital room in his state, but his head ached and he needed someone to attend him, anyway. Since no one was in the room, he wasn’t the waiting type either; he went to get himself cared of.  
He passed through the high marble door, finding out some nursing nuns all in white canonicals, walking lightly not to disturb the patients, but only on the end of the lengthy hallway – no one of them looked at his way, though.  
He was going either to groan in pain, loudly, either in peeve for the lack of attendance to him. And he found out he didn’t like to be kept waiting or to be ignored.  
His eyes wandered his left, the side of the corridor full of doors while the other was full of high glassy windows, until her saw two acquaintances of his eyes. There were the physician and the mademoiselle from the last time. Yet, the physician’s clothes weren’t dirty anymore, nor was he wearing his cloak. Instead, he wore dark clothes underneath the brown raincoat highlighting the auburn of his hair and his light green irises behind round glasses. Underneath the heavy layer of clothe, there was a red, white and blue flower.  
He had seen it somewhere, those colors. He knew he appreciated much more the carmine layer of petals, the red prominent on the dark shades.  
However, the mademoiselle wasn’t much better than the momentarily invalid young monsieur. She wore a creamy camisole over her olive skin full of dry scars on the wrong places and some bandages stained in blood on her right hand and left shoulder. Her hair was pulled away from her left side, showing her neck and collar bone prominent, sharp edges showing. The physician was taking off the stained bandage on her shoulder to take a look at it.  
He heard her make an uncomfortable noise when the monsieur pulled the last party of the rough clothe away, showing the black stitches troubling her moves. Her jaw clenched, but she didn’t make any other face than the saddened one she wore since the last time they met. Her eyes low and filled of sorrow.  
“One of them went loose.” The physician sad, his voice tired. Then he sent the mademoiselle a wary look “Can you please rest after I stitch it again?”  
The young lad didn’t know he was moving until he paused in the doorway, his steps quiet as a shadow. The curious duo didn’t notice his presence. Not yet, at least. They were too oblivious in their grieving, he figured leaning on his left shoulder against the door’s garnish, feeling suddenly a sting in his collar bone. He paid more attention to the others than to him, this time.  
The mademoiselle eyes rolled upwards until they met the physician’s face. She had a very intolerant gaze on them while an eyebrow arched deepening the meaning of her annoyed face.  
“I can’t worry, I can’t leave, I can’t even move anymore!” her voice raspy and mourning. The tall monsieur was sat on a chair in front of her, pulling the loosen edge with forceps and bringing the entire thread with him. She didn’t move nor winced “I need to get out of here, Monsieur…” She replied, turning her face towards the window in the end of the empty room.  
“You need to get better first, Mademoiselle.” He answered his voice low and almost in a melody. Very familiar for the spying lad “And the way you’re,” she turned to him again, waiting for him to finish his sentence “It’s going to take awhile.” She was about to throw herself in the bed, snoring about his orders, but the physician had a firm grip on her arm and steadied her, making her face his eyes again “You have to get better soon.”  
She huffed, standing still as the physician stitched her bruise again; taking his time “I wanted to be there.” She faces downwards, her hair falling.  
“I don’t.” she glanced at him, confused by his answer. He continued without facing her “I wanted to be with them, either way.” The realization crossed her features and she was looking down again. They stopped talking while he continued his healing.  
Who died? The blonde man on the door wanted to wonder out loud, but he was very distracted with the physician patching the mademoiselle. He even forgot he had a headache, because the left of his collar bone was bothering him now and the sting became an acute pain.  
“All set up.” The physician exclaimed after changing the bandages of her right hand.  
“Merci, Monsieur.” She replied, dryly.  
“Now, I…”  
The blonde didn’t hear what the monsieur had to say, because that thing on his collar bone was very painful and he finally glanced at it. He had a bandage on it, and stained with blood right below the collar bone.  
He groaned and the duo turned at him, startled, but they managed to get more shocked, with their eyes wide open and mouths gaping in his presence. The physician forgot about his brown, medical bag on the bench and stood up, trembling and bumping in his own big feet. Much taller than the blonde, bruised man was.  
In his green eyes the startle became astonished and there was relief in his smile.  
“You’re awake…” he managed and the blonde nodded, slowly, quite worried about their reaction. He didn’t remember him to be so close with the physician “Good Lord, you are awake!” the next thing the physician did was glare at his bruises “We need to change your bandages.” He said, but was rather happy to see him “It’s so good to see you, my friend.”  
The blonde didn’t notice the mademoiselle walking towards them until he looked elsewhere than the tall monsieur in front of him, and met the crying brunette had the ghost of a smile in her features, the tears streaming down her dark skin and designing strange patterns through small scars. She was in deep grief, he figured.  
But he caught a name from her lips when she approached him “Enjolras…” and he figured he was completely lost.  
Enjolras was his name, alright, but what about the rest? What about everything? He didn’t know. All he remembers is the last time he saw those two and nothing else before.  
God in Heaven, what happened to him?  
“Urgh…” Enjolras groaned again, almost touching the aching place with his palm as if it would stop it.  
“Your painkillers are off. I see.” The physician was worried, but not so much to carry him. He just led Enjolras back to his room and laid him on his bed again.  
The mademoiselle was behind them both, moving very slightly as if she didn’t want to be seen. She had so much suffering behind though hazel eyes of hers that between those quiet minutes having around her Enjolras thought best that she had her reasons to walk in the shadows like that.  
If it was night in that hospital and the young monsieur didn’t know the girl was very alive, he’d probably say she was a ghost from a deceased patient.  
He was placed back in his bed, feeling the pain in his left side hardening while the physician took a sit next to him and started to undo the bandages to get a fine look at his bruise, although the blonde wasn’t aware of the extent of the injury – he figured it should be something small quite similar to the brunette’s bruises, even if he felt his body was moving without grace as he felt some other places at his torso, feeling the fabric of the bandages around him.  
He got a quick look at the mademoiselle behind the other young lad and saw her concerned eyes at his face, not looking anywhere else. It felt a bit awkward at first, but as Enjolras stood there, holding her gaze, he started to see a whole new fractions of feelings filling her sorrow chocolate eyes – bitter, wonder, grief, joy, loathe even. And there was this expression of puzzle in those saddened eyes of hers, as if something was very wrong and it wasn’t exactly with her.  
“Ow.” Enjolras finally managed to break the silence as the physician, a friend he didn’t remember, pulled the string stained in blood and hurt the flesh beneath it. His eyes went to the bruise and saw it, finally, getting shocked at how big it was – very similar to the slash of a sword, crossing his collar bone from the front to his back, seeing the black stitches in between the blood and flesh not even starting to heal. It didn’t smell bad, though, even if the sight was horrible and made his stomach grumble.  
“Sorry about that.” Replied the self-conscious physician, very ware of how brute he was “It looks good.” Enjolras glared at the monsieur taking care of him, mentally throwing daggers at his face “I’m serious. It looks good and it’s clean, so it’ll start to heal as soon as you eat proper food and some vitamins to make your organism work.” And there was a small smile in the physician face as he wrapped a clean bandage at the injury, looking away from his friend’s face “I must say your codename as the marble man couldn’t be more appropriate.”  
Marble man rang a bell, but Enjolras didn’t remember how he got this or when. He remembered nothing before the last time he saw the duo. He had nothing in his mind, he was completely lost. And, even if he felt like he was stepping in dangerous ground there, he had to say something about his sudden lost of tracks.  
Who was he? Who were the man and the woman in front of him? What happened? Why the grieving feeling in his chest wouldn’t go away?  
“You don’t remember.” The statement startled both men, forcing them to turn their heads to the girl behind the physician. She stared in widened eyes at Enjolras and the blonde gulped, wary of the deep tone in her voice. Something in it blamed him for so many things he couldn’t even begin to explain how he knew, but he did and that was enough to start sending worry to his tired bones.  
The physician broke the silence that took a few seconds in their small group “Do you think Enjolras would stay silent if he did not recognized something or someone, Éponine?” the voice in the friend was rather crude and unhappy at that, almost insulted. Yet, Enjolras was more concerned at the name the monsieur called the mademoiselle.  
Éponine.  
He knew that name, he did. He didn’t remember much, but seeing her face and her eyes, and how expectant she looked at him, waiting anxiously for his words, remembered him of the sting in his head, how inappropriate it was at the very moment things were making sense he felt the ache again.  
His right hand went to the side of his head, feeling a lump beneath thick bandages and some stitches in that. That’s were it hurt and touching it just made the pain a little more unbearable.  
“Just look at him.” Her raspy voice said again, a disbelief and bitterness underneath the cry in her throat. The eyes fell over Enjolras and he felt self-conscious for a fraction of time, still feeling the thud in the lump behind his ear “Monsieur Joly, he’s completely out of it!” the physician, Joly, Enjolras assumed, glanced his green eyes at the invalid monsieur, seeing as his concern became more and more tangible. Joly was somewhere between bewildered and drained, as if Enjolras lack of memory was the cherry top in his pile of troubles.  
His bright eyes were down, then, showing how mournful he was before he had seen his obviously friend, even if Enjolras didn’t remember him, his large arms falling limp next to his body forcing his posture to crook in the backless bench, suddenly seeing what Éponine saw in his friend.  
“Enjolras.” Joly said, as if to confirm his thought and the blonde turned his deep blue orbs to his green ones, sharing a very painful expression between them “Do you remember what happened?” Enjolras was confused by his question. What happened when? “Enjolras, please, say something. I need you to say something!” he was desperate, his eyes dying in hope and the girl almost snorted behind him.  
“I do not know.” he replied, feeling his headache aggravating. His voice was deep and he saw the expression through the duo faces, as they had just been stabbed in their back – at least Éponine had it, her hazel eyes completely distraught “I do not remember.” He said slowly, then, listening to his own voice through thuds in his ear.  
The girl stormed out of the room, holding a sob. Joly didn’t move, too shocked to even think of that. He had his breathing unsteady and his hands were shaking badly, just as the rest of his body. It seemed he had been through that many nervous reactions before, but Enjolras couldn’t stop worrying about his pale face and the deep purple circles around his tired eyes.  
He looked completely destroyed, then, as if nothing could ever go back to normal. And Joly couldn’t even get on his feet to storm of and cry like Éponine just did. He felt useless, in the end, and he didn’t even think of leaving the hospital anymore.  
“I would not mind if anyone would tell me want happened.” Enjolras made through the silence that fell in his room, managing to make Joly look at him again. His green eyes went back to the concern before he knew Enjolras had lost his memories and there was the physician again, trying to hold still behind a façade as if nothing had just happened.  
Joly gave Enjolras a faint smile in his lips, grabbing something in the cabinet beside the invalid monsieur’s bed and taking the glass of water also there. It was a small pill, a medicine, and he stretched his trembling hand to the bruised friend, placing the white pill in his grip, sighing after it. The smile fade away and Enjolras saw a deadly serious gaze coming from the gentle physician “Take it and have some rest. We’ll talk later.” He didn’t seem like his friend anymore “Just get better.”  
And before Enjolras could even reply something to his attempt at shutting down his curiosity, the friend, Joly, was out of his room, almost running, although he had dragged his right leg, almost if it was limp.  
The blonde man decided to take the medicine, anyway, and felt the bitter taste in his mouth after taking a long time to drink it. And it didn’t take long to have an effect in his aching body, forcing the man to fall back in his sleep, dreaming of a foggy and dusty pile of broke furniture, in the dawn of a cloudy day and there were few people behind that very barricade, trapped between it and the dead-end street.  
Even if there were few, the people were agitated and singing, excited about something Enjolras saw him talking about. Something involving freedom and equality and fraternity, making everyone raise their muskets in the air, cheering and drinking. He saw two familiar faces between the crowd, the very Monsieur Joly, standing by the entrance of a shop, leaning in the doorway and looking scared, but excited, smiling awkwardly at his friends.  
The other familiar face was Éponine’s, but she didn’t look like a girl and he didn’t know she was there. He thought she was someone else, a boy between the others, dressed in baggy, brown clothes with a cap hiding her brown hair, her eyes divided her attention in three spots around that trap Enjolras said in his dream was a safe place – she glanced between his angry speech about freedom, equality and fraternity; she gazed at a freckled brunette, of bubbly face and bright green eyes, who happened to stand close to him on the top of the barricade; and she stared at a little boy, with blonde and messed locks, carried in someone’s shoulders, who laughed a crook smile at everyone and had this devilish blue eyes burning for a better future to everyone.  
Suddenly it all went black and Enjolras found himself in despair, running and yelling to the others to go from there, to hide and to survive. He hard deafening shots, the loud thud in his head aching him and making him sweat. He didn’t saw Joly or Éponine or the little boy, anymore. All he could see was a stair inside the house and some other boys were climbing it, being followed close by the blonde and distraught young man.  
And when he hit the top of the stairs the dream skip a peace again, showing Enjolras holding a red flag in his bloody hand and glaring at a bunch of guards pointing muskets at him, ready to shoot him. He had a window behind him, but he didn’t know what happened next.  
He shot his eyes open in between unsteady breathes and tears spilling out his eyes. His head was throbbing but it was dark again, and he was alone in his room much like he was standing alone in front of all those guards.  
He sat in his bed, glancing around, seeing he was alone still and he didn’t know what to make of it. He was in complete pain and he needed someone to tell him it was only a nightmare, he had to believe it was only a nightmare.  
It felt so real… he wondered sitting and pulling his legs out of the bed, the bare feet feeling the cold from the floor rushing chills up his body. He stood up, a bit groggy about the medicine and he remembered Joly leaving the room and Éponine going away before he could even say anything.  
He stood alone in the darkness and he could feel nothing more than despair, his head going back to the messed up dream, nightmare, which was so real he could feel it in his bones.  
“Will you ever stop screaming while you sleep?” he heard a raspy voice and his eyes glanced up, seeing the silhouette of the brunette from before.  
She was leaning in the wall across his bed, almost a ghost, in the shadow of the dark room. Even though, he could see her sad eyes and the bewilderment underneath her scarred olive skin.  
She was near him when he could possibly think in replying her, standing in front of him and sitting in the bed next to him “I didn’t intend in disturbing you.” A roughness in his throat he didn’t notice before. He reached for the glass of water in his cabinet and drank all of it, feeling it wasn’t enough “I can’t control myself while unconscious. Not yet, at least.” Even in his physical state, he could be a little crude to the snarky woman invading his quarters.  
She didn’t look like she cared about how he spoke to her. She still held this deep and cynical voice in her. She had a short and ironic laughter “Even losing your mind, you can still manage a smart answer. That is you.” She pretended to be stoic towards him, but he felt she couldn’t.  
“You know quite something about my personality, I assume.” Although formal, he didn’t feel very out of him. He was comfortable speaking like that, he liked to speak formally and the woman in front of him knew this.  
“You don’t need to. I’m nothing to you.” He felt the bitterness spitting out of her, the deception rising between them. She was blunt and she didn’t care if she was hurting him. Enjolras knew by the way Éponine was talking; she was in her right to feel the way she felt, she was in her right to feel this way towards him, even though Enjolras hadn’t made out yet the reason “Nor were those people you forgot.” She reminded him about his loss and his eyes stared daggers at her.  
“I did not choose to forget anyone.” His brows furrowing deeper and his eyes catching every movement she made across from him, she was crooked near him, forcing her deep and guilty gaze to reach him “I would never do such a thing out of will.”  
“You think you wouldn’t because you do not remember!” she replied snarky. Her eyes were shield against his aggressive ones, or they were already used to suffering. It didn’t matter his reasons, she would not hear to him because she was grieving deeply, sank in a river without hope.  
He remembered how shocked she was when he stated that he didn’t remember indeed, and she ran away from him, her hopes apart from everything she dreamed of after whatever happened.  
“How could you?” and Enjolras was about to reply her, but she reformulated, rising to her small and bare feet in a rage, approaching him and looking him down “How dare you?!” Enjolras thought for a brief and would say something, but she continued not caring for his explanations “Your beautiful words and speeches full of liberté, egalité, fraternité were all lies! You lied and you didn’t stick to the fraternité! You forgot all of them! You forgot your friends!” now it was disturbing.  
“I would never lie.” He stated clearly answering every word she told him. She snorted, but Enjolras continued to speak because she wouldn’t let him say anything after her outburst and the man didn’t like to be interrupted “How can you say I forgot all of them? You do not know what happened to me.” He replied bluntly, out of despise and as a guess, and she gaped for a second, making him curious about that.  
For a bit of a moment he made her speechless.  
“You don’t know either.” She replied, anger in her narrowed hazel eyes. Enjolras stood up, ignoring the throbbing in his head. It was bearable for now, at least. He noticed he was taller than her and also noticed she didn’t like having to glare at him upwardly “You do not remember!” she insisted, hurting him, as if it would giver her something out of it.  
“Then, enlighten me!” he felt his voice rising, his throat a bit rough again after his possibly yell at the young woman in front of him, younger than him at least, but with a mind as suffered and experienced as someone’s close to General Lamarque’s age.  
General Lamarque? He thought to himself. That name. He remembered him, he remembered this man and he had something to do with the loss of memory that Enjolras was dealing with currently. However, everything went blurry and he couldn’t place nothing either. He only new the man was old and was gone now, dead, in his coffin.  
Éponine’s deep gaze could dig a hole through his skull, he figured, seeing every feeling spilling out of her. She was quiet for sometime now, her eyes watering as she gaped, about to say something, and closed her mouth gulping her words back to her inner.  
She did think before speaking, in the end.  
“All clever things you say or whatever point I have in blaming you for everything won’t bring them back.” A tear running down her face alerted him and she looked downwards, her acute voice cracking “Nothing we do will ever bring them back.” She had her shoulders shaking, her words hurting her. She didn’t stop there, though, and Enjolras was shocked at how fragile she could be after being so stoic about everything “You’re here, Joly’s here, I’m here. Everyone is gone and you can’t even grieve for them because you don’t remember who they are or what they were to you.” She turned around to leave.  
“I’m sorry if I’m not able to grieve for them, if it’s what is troubling you. I’m sorry I lost my memory and I’m sorry if this gives you the worst time of your life.” She turned around, almost hatred could describe her expression beyond the unhappily one. She couldn’t believe her very ears, or her eyes. Enjolras didn’t let her begin to speak “I’m sorry about every pain you feel and I’m sorry I can’t make up for whatever happened before. I do not know if my knowledge of what happened would give a chance to do something about it, but I would rather do something than feel this useless towards your disappointment.”  
She shook her head, disapprovingly, showing him how utterly wrong he was “It was never so easy to lie, wasn’t it?” she rubbed her eyes furiously, clenching her jaw and gritting her teeth “Even if you had a chance to do something, you would do it again! You would start a revolution again and you would manipulate everyone out there to fight with you the revolution that led to nothing and won’t lead to naught!” she spit the words, tears never stopping streaming down her face, the words sinking in Enjolras deep thoughts.  
Revolution. He remembered a revolution. He remembered something, but the rest was a blur. Éponine continued to speak though, and every word she said was a dagger in him, opening bruises scarred by his loss of memory. However, he couldn’t place everything yet. He didn’t know what to make out of this.  
He was completely lost at everything she kept throwing at him and he couldn’t manage to reply her attack.  
“You said it yourself! Students can replace the others, it doesn’t matter which one is fighting as long as he fights until the earth is free!” she was screaming louder now and there was a bit of a murmur outside his room, the nuns probably coming closer, but Éponine didn’t stop her fury there “In the end of the day, Enjolras,” she said his name with so much loathe he felt the urge to look away from her sorrowful face and hide himself. But he didn’t. He couldn’t after all. She was too near to ignore her “Les Amis de L’Abaissé can be replaced and there can be another revolution, and lies will keep on spilling out of your mouth until half Paris is dead because of your manipulative words!”  
Enjolras couldn’t answer that. He didn’t know what she was saying, although it did hurt his soul. Éponine didn’t stop it.  
“The Marble Man cannot be cracked, can he? He still has to lie and he has to make his revolution happen, no matter what, no matter the price.” Now she said it, her hazel eyes clearly disappointed – was it at him or at herself, Enjolras couldn’t say. He couldn’t say much after all, he couldn’t remember many things to defend himself, he was completely at a loss of words and he couldn’t help sinking in deeply in a guilt that was dragging him to the bottom of hell, even if he hadn’t known exactly why.  
The nuns burst through the door, six of them, showing their faces and chastising Éponine for getting out of her room and sneaking into a man’s room, in the middle of the night, screaming and disturbing everyone around. It was a hospital, in the end, and the women didn’t seem to be very fond of the girl either.  
Enjolras felt the need to say something because the women were grabbing Éponine’s arms and pulling her to the door, reprimanding her and telling her she should’ve been grateful for being let to stay here. The nuns threatened her, telling she’d be expelled if she did that again, but Éponine’s eyes didn’t flinch from their direction.  
They were still locked with Enjolras’.  
“Monsieur, we’re terribly sorry for the gamine!” one of the couple of nuns that stayed in his room to give him some medicine said, bowing her head slightly and the other one did the same, both of them very regretful “We should’ve kept an eye on that little one! She has been a troublemaker to-”  
“I appreciate your worries, sisters, but there was no need to drag her like that.” Enjolras said, feeling his inner ache as the sisters seemed a bit scared at his stare towards them “She’s just as bruised as I am and she isn’t to blame.” The women before him were speechless “She’s been through so much pain and you still say she’s a troublemaker.”  
“Monsieur-” Enjolras sat on his bed, feeling his headache becoming stronger.  
“My head hurts.” He stated clearly, his eyes shooting daggers at the older nun who started to talk to him. He clearly didn’t want to talk about that now and the nun said nothing, because she was there to take care of him and make him better.  
“Here.” The other, thought, grabbed the medicine and gave to Enjolras to drink, sipping on his water after ingesting the white and big pill “You’ll have this and you’ll be able to sleep a little more, and your pain will go away.”  
“Merci.” He said appreciative and the nun did a little curtsy to him, bowing her head after “Can you tell me what happened to my head?” he had to know soon or later, anyway.  
The older nun glared at the younger one who was about to say, but she kept quiet. The nun that treated badly Éponine, though, started her explanation for the blonde, handsome young man; bruised in his bed like any other patient “You were shot in many places.” Enjolras frowned at this. He was shot! Something like that didn’t happen out of the blue “The bullet brushed past behind your ear, but the impact caused a severe damage at your skull. You look well, though, reacting and speaking and walking and feeling, but it seems to have caused you some lack of…” she had a loss of word, as if she searched for something missing on him.  
“Maybe, lack of memory?” the woman nodded then, a bit saddened at that. Enjolras nodded, understanding the meaning of it.  
“I’m sorry, Monsieur.” The older one said, bowing her head.  
“No need to be.” He replied after a yawn, feeling the medicine taking effect on him again.  
“But you might have it back.” The young one said and Enjolras listened to her, carefully, feeling dizzy “When you get the majority of your bruises healed, you can do things you did before. You must have a friend out there, they’ll help you. A family, even. I’m sure you’ll be able to get your memory back.” Although her gleefulness was sure to keep him awake and faithful, Enjolras turned around to lie on his bed.  
“Merci, sisters.” He said to them, feeling someone pulling a cover over him.  
Although very delightful to have his memories back, Enjolras couldn’t let himself to forget Éponine’s words.  
Enjolras wasn’t sure if he wanted to remember.


	2. Grief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I see people are reading this... It means it's somewhat acceptable. :D  
> Hope you enjoy this one!   
> Have fun. ♥

“I heard Mademoiselle Éponine paid you a visit last night.” Enjolras was in bed, under his sheets, when he heard the familiar voice from Joly, the physician. He came in his room with his bag, wearing his simple clothes from the day before.  
Joly seemed a bit embarrassed about Enjolras looking through the ceiling, having his deep thoughts disturbed by the physician who was supposed to be his grieving friend to something that happened because Enjolras was possibly a selfish bastard and manipulative too, who made his friends fight a revolution and, apparently, have them all killed.   
If anything, Joly should feel ashamed of Enjolras and not himself for intruding his thoughts.  
“We had quite the argument.” Enjolras replied bluntly, glancing at his friend sideways, not really feeling the need to sit down and talk to him.   
The gentleman took his seat beside him just like the day before and put his bag in the floor, a bit worried about that, but he brushed it away, gazing his green eyes at his lying bruised friend. Joly seemed tired above all things, with some red in the white of his eyes and purple circles rounding them, his face pale and his nose a bit red from crying, Enjolras deduced.   
The friend put a small and sad smile in his lips, green eyes downwards and thinking of something to say, making the blonde’s blue orbs wonder something else about the young man in front of him, the thing that bothered him the day before and he didn’t had time to ask because he was left alone with his lost memory – Joly’s leg should be injured from the revolution, Enjolras figured, sighting one of the long legs covered in brown pants stretched out a bit sideways to the position the young physician was sitting as facing the lying blonde man.  
Joly followed his gaze to his leg and widened, opening his mouth and murmuring an understanding to the way Enjolras glared at him from his pillow “I’m injured from the barricade.” The tall brunette pulled his lips into a one-sided smile while talking, his eyebrows rising and relaxing at the gesture, he even inclined his head sideways “It hurts a little, but I’ll manage.” He gulped after that and Enjolras thought he had seen it somewhere, probably the fear of getting some infection through his injuries or something like that, yet his attention was totally directed to the barricade note coming from his tall and grieving friend who had his posture a bit crooked and heavy shoulders “I got shot in my thigh, right here,” he pointed the place and winced a bit at it. He was also pretty messed up like Enjolras and Éponine, but he still managed to get around and take care of them. Indeed, a very kind man “And some National Guards cut me with their swords here.” He gestured to his torso, but quickly waved always, not very comfortable at that “Nothing serious, though I thought I would die with the shot and the bleeding away.” He confessed, rubbing the back of his neck and giggling.  
Enjolras felt his lips pulling sideways, into a quick smile of nostalgia. Joly was one to be restless about deeds involving his health – or everyone’s health around him, to be exactly.   
“Feisty one, isn’t she?” Enjolras track of thoughts missed their goal when he heard Joly’s words, wandering his eyes to the green ones again who had somewhat of a troubled mixture behind them “Mademoiselle Éponine.” His blue eyes understood now that his friend couldn’t yet read his mind and he wasn’t to blame Enjolras lost the tracks that would, or not, led him to his memories forgotten – well, Joly seemed also to have had some sort of an argument with Éponine because he ran a hand through his hair and had this exhausted eyes while speaking of the young lady the room next door “She won’t let you get away with anything.” He said with a sigh and Enjolras sat on his bed, a bit awkwardly and accepting the help from the tall friend, finally nodding and agreeing with his words.  
“My thoughts exactly.” Enjolras said as a matter of fact and Joly let a laugh come out of his mouth usually pointing downwards, and he patted the friend in the back, careful not to accidently touch the injured area.  
“She’s a tough young lady.” Joly said and Enjolras already knew that - he had plenty of her toughness the last night “You shouldn’t really pay attention to what she tells you now.” Now this made the blonde man furrow his eyebrows and Joly raised his hands in the air, in sign of peace “I know, I know. You want to smack me right now; however you must take in regard the shock she went through. She’s mourning so many people and things were always complicated to her. So never mind whatever she told you yesterday.”   
Enjolras sighed heavily, passing a hand through his curly hair and getting stuck with some stupid knots. He pushed through and felt the acute pain of pulling hair, but he didn’t worry about it. He was thinking about Joly’s request.   
How could he never mind about all those things she told him the last night?   
“I do not think I can do that.” Enjolras replied, gazing his wondering deep blue eyes elsewhere but the physician’s face “Those words had logic to me. I do not see how I will not ever mind about them.” Joly sighed and Enjolras looked at his tired face again.  
“My friend, those were words of a hurting girl.” He didn’t mean any harm, Enjolras knew, but there was something burning already inside the blonde man that he couldn’t let any understatement pass by him. He had to reply, no matter what cost.  
“Does it make them any less true?” Joly paused at that, narrowing his eyes and furrowing his thick brows in concern, leaning closer to his friend and holding firmly at his arm.  
“Enjolras, I don’t know what happened here last night or what she told you.” Joly answered carefully, almost whispering. But in contrast to his low voice, his green eyes had a determination that the blonde man never thought he’d ever see in the kind physician’s eyes “If anyone is to blame, my friend, is the king.” Enjolras blinked his blue eyes to Joly’s statement, furrowing his brows and feeling a throb in his head.  
The King. A King was to blame as the reason for Enjolras revolution and the death of many of his friends and, currently, Éponine’s fury towards him. That was something that, indeed, made his mind blur more than before.  
There was a point in the revolution against a King, Enjolras accepted that, yet, there were so many missing pieces and he wasn’t even sure what truly happened in the revolution that killed his friends and was the cause he lost his mind. It was too unfortunate for such awful things to happen now.  
“This is no time to speak about that fucking bastard.” Joly stated moving away from the friend and breathing heavily, a bit irritated at the turn of their conversation. Enjolras breathed deeply, controlling the pain in his head. He wasn’t very fond of the medicine he took to kill the pain since it would only take him back to sleep and he didn’t want to sleep again without needing “I don’t think you recovered your memories, am I right?” should he tell the physician about his dream of a barricade or should he just say no to his question? The dream wasn’t very specific either way.  
“I’m not sure.” Enjolras stated annoyed and felt the throb again. If there was something that got in his nerves was to not be sure or not be aware of situations. He hated not to know something and he hated to be insecure. It pained him in the bones to have such a feeling.  
Another throb in his head and he hissed low enough to Joly not mind about it.  
"Don’t push yourself, Enjolras.” Joly said warmly, placing a lighthearted smile in his lips that didn’t reach his eyes “In your current condition, you must rest.” Joly patted him in the back again, carefully, and saw the furrow between Enjolras’ eyebrows, grinning to it “I know you hate not being aware of things. You must deal with it, for now, and I promise you I’ll help you get them back as soon as you get better.” And there was the determination Enjolras saw before in the apple green eyes of his friend.   
There was something about the tall and clumsy gentleman in front of him that gave Enjolras trust, confidence in the promise the friend gave him. Maybe that was the reason – he had a friend who cared about him enough to promise him the help to find his lost memories in the current tempest going on in his head.   
Enjolras nodded slightly, feeling the throb a little less painful after the reassurance coming from Joly and let a relieved sigh escape his lips he didn’t know he was holding. He could trust someone, at least “Merci, my friend.” And he saw the pale cheeks of the gentle physician becoming red at the title.   
Joly smiled genuinely now, blushing and nodding enthusiastically at that and Enjolras found himself with the corners of his mouth twisted up. It was the first time he felt joy, at least what Enjolras could remember. It was a good thing to see his friend happy for a small fraction of time “You have no idea how it is good to see you, my friend. You really don’t.” there was the relief from the mournful young man in front of him “I’m so glad I’m even speechless.” He laughed awkwardly and rubbed his face at that.  
Enjolras saw the glister of tears in his face, even if Joly was trying his hardest to wipe them away before the blonde noticed them. Suddenly there were too many for Joly to keep on wiping them away, letting his face reddened from so much rubbing, and he looked down, ashamed from his sudden cry.  
Then Enjolras realized there had been no such thing as time to mourn for his friends to the physician in front of him, who had been wounded and still managed to take care of Éponine and himself while unconscious. Joly didn’t have time to rest his tired body from the battle and he didn’t have time to cry over his friends, even if he had shed some tears before while coming from his room to Éponine’s room. He was grieving, but he couldn’t let himself be cared away because he had Enjolras with a serious head injury to worry and Éponine’s toughness to handle.  
It was obvious that Joly would burst at some point, he was even oblivious to the pain a shot could cause and he had it in his leg, still walking around as if he had only sprained it. He was only human and he managed to overcome it all just for the well-being of people he considered his friends, not asking anything in return.   
A precious soul to this sick world Enjolras thought to himself and before he could think twice, he had his left hand in Joly’s shoulder, patting it in a comfortable pace for both of them and trying to let the weight in his shoulders fall off.   
Joly was taken aback for a moment, not really expecting to be touched or comforted by Enjolras, but he didn’t move. His tears flowed quickly now and he took off his glasses, placing them in the cabinet next to Enjolras’ bed. He sniffed at the beginning, holding the sobs for awhile and, then, releasing them with anguish, trembling and inhaling deeply to retrieve the breath into his lungs. His lips trembled and he panted and Enjolras could only look at him with saddened eyes.  
He should be just like Joly is, even worst, but he couldn’t find it in him to be this miserable. His forehead was wrinkled since he couldn’t help pulling down his eyebrows to the sight of his friend melting into mourning tears and even felt the urge to say something. What to say was the question ringing in his mind now and he couldn’t find any word to make it feel better.  
It would never feel better, however. Nothing is like it would be before and there was nothing Enjolras could say to make Joly feel any less sad.   
Therefore, Enjolras leaned closer to his friend and tried to give him an awkward hug, to comfort the grieving young man, maybe to share his pain, to remember something or to just tell him he was there and that he could unburden himself next to him.   
Joly hugged the friend back, not at all feeling awkward or ashamed about it. He held Enjolras firmly, his big and clumsy arms away from his bruises and trembling, his fists closed and his heart biting faster than drums. The blonde let out a sympathetic sigh and the brunette tried to say something, being unable due the never-ending sobs closing his throat and the air in him.  
The last Amis de L’Abaissé stood there, quiet and mourning for an hour or so, not really caring about the sick world around them. There were things needed to be taken care of, there would always be, however it was time to be sad and only be it. Nothing less; nothing more.

•

Joly stood the entire afternoon talking with Enjolras after he cried all he could for his lost friends, telling him how Musichetta, who was his mistress and an Opera singer, and some of her friends that knew the Amis de L’Abaissé helped him to find appropriate tombs to bury them and also helped him to write for their families – even if most of the friends declined their wealth after joining the cause the revolution fought or having their wealthy parents disinherited them, afraid of the feedback it might’ve had caused them or having the family reputation put in steak, it would be better if they were aware of the death of the students.   
Many letters to write caused Joly inflammation in the tendon and it hurts, he remembered Enjolras almost every moment they spoke, but it would go away if he had some medicines.   
Joly also told Enjolras he was concerned about their stay in the hospital which couldn’t postpone five days from their arrival, since the young physician was, yet, attending to the Medical School and, therefore, not graduated. He didn’t work in the hospital, another problem to go through it, but the nuns had him in after seeing how he got there caring him with Éponine’s help and some kind gentlemen in their way there – a very long story full of awful moments in which Enjolras finally knew the reason his back hurt so much and the presence of dark purple bruises all over his arms.   
The Lord’s hand in it, of course, let the strict nuns allow them to stay for at least one week and they couldn’t cause trouble to the other diseased patients. There was one more problem to add to their endless list of issues which was Joly being totally responsible for them, leading him to almost never leaving the hospital due the lack of medical attendance to him or Éponine.  
“Yet the nuns came last night and took Éponine back to her room.” Enjolras told him wondering the reasons for them to come – well, she was screaming and she might’ve been a little of trouble, but he didn’t see why the nuns would ever mind about them.  
“About that, they complained to me this morning.” He said yawning, recalling the dull older nun telling him all she knew about them and that she wouldn’t restrain herself the next time the gamine did anything to disturb the peace.  
“They even gave me medicine.” Enjolras continued to tell him and Joly shrugged, a bit hesitant in what to answer.  
“I guess they had compassion over your…” he cleaned his throat and the blonde man made a face “Condition. Obviously, trying to let you comfortable after dealing with Mademoiselle Éponine.” Enjolras could do with that.   
And Joly explained they should leave in about two days because they wouldn’t need to stay much more, besides there was the National Guard hunting down the living students from the barricades and they should lay low in somewhere safe.   
“Though we also have a problem in there.” Enjolras felt the throbbing pain coming back to the lump behind his right ear to, apparently, the fifth time Joly told him they had a problem. However, by seeing the almost tangible desperation in the green eyes, the blonde man nodded to the friend to continue “Someone is missing.”  
Enjolras frowned at that “What do you mean?” who was missing?  
“Well, while I was there to recognize the bodies of our friends,” He gulped, a shade of pale green coming to his face showing Enjolras it wasn’t the best moments of Joly’s life “I couldn’t find Marius.” The green eyes glared hesitant at the deep blue orbs that seemed vague at that.  
“How could a body go missing?” there was this unmistakable nonconformist voice coming from the blonde and Joly hissed at that “Are you really sure he was even there, Joly? He can’t vanish like that.”  
“I know!” Joly assured Enjolras, confident of what he saw during the battle “He was there! He got shot and he fell! I saw him falling!” Joly looked down, the weight in his shoulders paining him “I know he was injured, Enjolras. It was an ugly thing to see.”  
Enjolras sighed heavily, running his hand through his hair and standing up, tightening the knot around his waist not to be naked in front of his friend. He walked around the large room – the only one the nuns had away from the patients which had the plague on them. Due to their many bruises and fleshy injuries, it was only fair for them to stay away as far as they could from the defected – at least this they could give them.   
“Well, if he was shot and it was, indeed, an awful injury, he couldn’t have gone anywhere far by himself.” Enjolras stated as a matter of fact.  
“No, my friend. He couldn’t have gotten anywhere by himself.” Joly warned him, his expression depressing. Enjolras turned to face the lad, seeing how he tried his hardest to keep the tears away from his eyes “He fell unconscious.”   
Enjolras pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the headache he was trying so hard to control burst in his skull “Now, that is an issue.” He grunted a bit too loud for his liking, which alerted Joly of his pain.  
“Enjolras, get back to bed. You can’t worry so much. You must rest.” Joly warned him in a reprehensive tone, getting up slowly and feeling his leg aching.  
“The both of us must rest and I haven’t seen you doing it at all.” He replied sharply, pulling his curls away from his face and grimacing at his injured friend across the room.  
Joly rolled his eyes and crossed his chest “You’re too stubborn for my delight.” Joly snorted and grabbed his bag in the floor “I have to check on Mademoiselle Éponine now. She wanted to know how the funeral was.” he had this unwillingly expression in his face that told Enjolras he wasn’t very comfortable in living “I can’t even imagine what she’s going to do when I tell her Marius is missing.”  
After that Enjolras felt a sudden burst of information involving this Marius and Éponine in his memories, memories that didn’t have much to do with him, still in his mind, something for him to remember how this feisty little brunette was.   
And he saw, as if he wasn’t sharing his moment with Joly anymore, as if he stood in the room in the second store of the café which was lit by many candles spread in the walls and over the furniture with many people around him. There was a low mumble, some words he had heard after loosing his memory – the king and the revolution and the barricade – around him, he had a very nice red waistcoat on him and a pistol near his hands leaning over the table.  
There was a small moment when his head turned around and he saw this young man, of slightly orange and freckled skin next to him, dark hair and dreamy, travelling green eyes, wearing a blue coat and an infatuated face.   
He tried to keep himself serious about the plans going on around the table in which Enjolras had been supporting his body, but his eyes used to wander far from there, not even blinking away from their position.   
A voice called for Marius and the freckled brunette next to him woke from his daydreaming, turning his head around to find out who had just talked to him and Pontmercy – Enjolras recalled his last name because it was something those boys did: they called each other with their surnames – finally found the owner of the calling, making the blue eyes of the blonde wander until they finally landed at the petite figure on the stairs, gripping tightly the wooden balustrade.   
She didn’t look at all like the girl staying in the room next door in the hospital that sneaked in his and decided to charge him of guilty of all the worst that happened to them three days ago. She was very different from the bruised Éponine, all wrapped up in bandages and clean camisole, of sad and exhausted expressions.  
That Éponine standing in the stairs had dirt all over her small body, with her long brown hair stiff and olive skin darker than the actual tone she had a couple days before. Her clothes, a green blouse and burgundy skirt with a brown belt in her waist to held the pieces together because it was baggy for her skinny figure, had moth holes and were crimpled, tore in the edges and filthy. Her bare feet were almost completely black from muck and the toes were calloused, although she didn’t seem to mind.  
She had this dreamy smile on her lips when she saw Marius making his way towards her and she had her bony hand behind her back, trying to control her joy on finally seeing him. Her chocolate brown irises glistened as he touched her bare arm and she widened her smile so her yellowed teeth was appealing and her dimples showed in her prominent cheek bones.   
Enjolras realized she felt something towards him, but as he gazed back at the freckled man he didn’t see the same feeling flowing from him, even if he had this goofy smile on his face and called her Ponine.   
“Did you find her?!” Enjolras listened to the excited voice coming from Pontmercy and then his eyes were over the petite mademoiselle, catching her eyes faltering and her posture hunching over it.  
He saw the hesitance in her reply, but she brushed it away and managed a smile in return while nodding to the young man in front of her, a smile that never reached her hazel eyes.   
Both pair of eyes, green and brown, were suddenly in Enjolras face, waiting for him to say something about Marius fleeing from there and about Éponine to be intruding on their reunion. However, all that the blonde man did was snort and grimace.  
Soon after that, Marius was running down the stairs and Éponine was close in his feet, but she gazed back at Enjolras with those brokenhearted orbs, the deep circles around the eyes and the brows slightly furrowed at him. He caught himself grimacing at her, which didn’t take long before a sigh escape his lips and his eyes softened at her hurt look.  
He knew she’d be irritated at him, but Enjolras couldn’t help feeling pity at her for seeing Marius using her to get to the other girl. Because he and all their other friends knew about Éponine having feelings towards the freckled Pontmercy – they also knew he was completely oblivious to that.  
She turned around to leave and Enjolras flashback was over, his wandering blue eyes were back at the hospital room and he could see Joly apprehensive glare at him – he had one eyebrow furrowed and one of his eyes was almost popping out. His glasses were back on, though, and his bag was in hands.  
“Are you alright?” Joly managed to ask, taking short steps towards Enjolras who breathed deeply, astonished at how he recalled that moment in the café.  
It was sort of incredible.  
“Enjolras?” Joly called him again and Enjolras let himself smile small.  
“Joly.” Enjolras said startling the student that widened his both eyes in return, paying attention to the commanding sound of his voice “I know Pontmercy!”  
“We all knew Pontmercy. He was quite the revolutionary before he met – Huh?!” and Joly, a bit oblivious to what Enjolras said, realized what the friend meant, letting the biggest smile spread in his lips to the big news “You remembered him?!” Enjolras nodded, a genuine smile settle on his lips, and Joly suddenly was hugging the friend much smaller than himself “You remembered Pontmercy!”  
“My shoulder…” Enjolras complained feeling the sting in his collarbone and Joly let him go, apologizing for it “Calm down. I don’t remember much, but I remember how he was at least.”  
Joly shrugged, the smile never leaving his tired face “Better than nothing, my friend!”   
“And I wish you the best of luck while telling Éponine about his body missing.” He said it with honesty in his voice; he was serious about it, although Joly didn’t quite get his earnest.  
“So much for friendship.” Joly scoffed shaking his head and turning around to leave, dragging his injured leg along. Enjolras didn’t get his sudden temper “And here was I thinking you would suggest tagging along.”  
Enjolras cleaned his throat, uncomfortable about it “I do not believe she wants to see me. And I do not believe she would let me go unharmed if I’m there with you when you tell her about Pontmercy.” Joly glanced at him over his shoulder, sour about going alone to face Éponine.  
“I always knew you were afraid of women, Enjolras.” Joly teased before leaving the room and closing the door.

• 

“What?!” her voice was raspy and she sounded desperate “Marius is missing?!”  
She was desperate and angry, so angry she could punch the wall if she had a hand in a decent condition of smacking something or someone – one of her hands was sprained and the other tried to detain the shot from hitting Marius in the barricade, so it had a whole closer to the edge of it, aching a lot.   
Her eyes were close to tears and she needed to get out of there because staying within four walls for so long without hitting the outside even once was suffocating her. Seeing the streets of Paris through a window was nothing to compare as seeing it from the alleyways. And even if she had a roof over her head right now, she knew it wasn’t forever and it wouldn’t keep her unharmed much longer.  
Poor monsieur Joly wasn’t to blame, she knew that and she felt terrible after treating him so badly when he was being so good to her, taking care of her injuries and giving her a shelter until she was better. However, she didn’t like to be his charity case – no one’s charity case, for the matter.  
She spotted him sitting in the bench by her bed, looking down and running his hand through his dark locks, as desperate as she was. He had been through so much burying the Amis by himself and sending those letters – he gave her a letter too which she was to deliver the Thérnadiers after he would let her wander around Paris, to warn them about Gavroche’s death and where was his tomb so they could pay their condolences.  
She swallowed the crying as she remembered the fact her little brother, barely twelve years old, of blonde messy hair and shiny green eyes, crooked yellowed teeth in his usual devilish smile, had bravely died in the wrong side of the barricade, looking after powder in the Guards’ bodies.  
If her parents were to know Gavroche was dead, they would do anything to mourn him because they deserted the little one when he had just left being a toddler in the merciless streets of Paris. The one thing they would probably do with the knowledge of his grave was getting him off his coffin and to sell it along his tomb. They would just throw his body in the sewers with the rest of the urchin of Paris because they were scum and that’s exactly what they would do.  
Éponine had already decided to tell nobody else about Gavroche, although she was sure she would visit him when Joly let her go. She would take the most beautiful flowers she could find and place it in his tomb, because he deserved it.  
Going back to the awful news, how could Marius body go missing? What was wrong with that sick world she lived in for someone to kidnap his body?!   
What the hell is going on?!  
“Yes. He couldn’t have gone anywhere by himself because, as I told you before, he was unconscious when I last saw him.” The gentle monsieur replied the gamine, his eyes exhausted but patient. He massaged his neck, trying to release some burden of his back and closing his eyes “No one saw him when I was back at Saint Michel yesterday. They said the remaining Guards set the bodies of the students aligned inside the Café, the Inspector checked on them and then left. I and Musichetta’s friends were the only ones to move them after that. No one would take a lifeless body away.”  
Yes. What is the use of a lifeless body? Éponine didn’t know, but there were many bewitch around Paris’ darkest alleys and they did some black magic with some corpses sometimes. There were always insane people around and that Éponine was sure to her bones – she used to live with them and she used to call them Mama and Papa.   
Unless… Éponine let Joly speak to himself for awhile, making her own theories that might not be all wrong. Well, she could at least try!  
“Unless he’s not dead!” she startled Joly who was interrupted in his monologue about how people would loot corpses whenever they fell and that Marius had a nice pocket to loot.  
And for a moment Éponine thought she was being ridiculous about her feelings towards Monsieur Marius. Even though he told her when everyone thought she was dead he wondered if his words of love could close her wounds, he couldn’t be serious about it. She was dying and he wanted her to die the less miserable she could because he is a sweetheart or because he was probably feeling bad after she confessed her love for him while almost dying.  
It doesn’t make it any less ridiculous just because she loves him to think he’s still alive. When she left the barricade with Enjolras unconscious in her arms and a hobbling Joly by her side, she hadn’t seen him either. Jean Valjean might have taken him with the other bodies after she woke up. That made sense.   
He won’t be alive just because you want him to be, Éponine. Stop being ridiculous!  
“Mademoiselle.” Joly’s careful voice rang in her ear and she turned around to face him again, she felt her cheeks reddening as he sighted the tracks of tears in her olive skin “I’d be mostly glad to know another friend of mine is alive.” He had a deadly serious tone in his voice; his face was soft, though “However, it was a miracle for us three to leave the barricade without being caught. You know it.”  
“I know.” she nodded, not really voicing the words.  
“If he’s alive, it’s the smallest of possibilities and I don’t think we’re in emotional condition to fool ourselves.” Éponine wasn’t used to hear harsh words coming from Joly, not at all. They were dull and they practically smacked her dreams straight out of her face without her even having the time to further thinking about them. Nevertheless, he couldn’t be more accurate. They were in no mental condition to delude themselves “If he’s alive, we’ll figure it out. If he’s dead, we’ll figure it out either way.” He was certain about it and Éponine felt the reassurance burning inside of her, the symptom those schoolboys caused her when they talked about their dreams and promises.  
Their beautiful words…   
The skinny brunette sat down in front of the large and clumsy gentleman, sighing and letting some tears escape her eyes. She rubbed them away, her less wounded hand smoothing her scarred face.  
“Did he remember anything?” Joly was startled by the sudden change of subject. He did let the small smile reach his lips, though.  
“He remembered Marius.” Éponine exclaimed soundless, her mouth opening and closing at that. She didn’t really know what to think of it “I think he remembered you and him, though.” Her chocolate orbs wandered to the green ones, seeing the smallest of suggestive glints in them, telling her something she should know how to respond or to brush it away.  
She didn’t have in her to reply kindly, though. Just speaking of him sent shivers down her spine and she wasn’t really sure why – she didn’t want to be sure of it. She narrowed her eyes “Good. I only hope him not to lie to me the next time, then.”   
Joly fought the urge to roll his eyes, aware it would only fire up the feisty gamine in front of him “Mademoiselle, he couldn’t have loose his memory willingly.” Joly suggested, definitely not wanting to start an argument.   
Éponine, on the contrary, wasn’t really minding to argue with someone right now “I don’t know if you remember it correctly, Monsieur Joly, or if you lost your memory also…” she started, scoffing with the most serious tone she had ever used towards the physician. He grimaced at it, but let her continue “However, your friend in the room neighbor to this one promised he would never forget us. Am I right?” she paused waiting for Joly to correct her; he said nothing, though, and she continued “Now, I might not have gotten shot in my head, but I stick to my promises until I fulfill them. Or I’d rather die than breaking them.” She stated abruptly, folding her arms over her chest and embracing herself for the answer to come.  
“And, as a matter of fact, you had not been shot in the head.” Joly stated bluntly, finishing their argument there, seeing how uneasy the gamine got after it “If he was in his perfect state of mind, Mademoiselle, you know he would still remember and keep his promise.” She unfolded her arms, letting them fall slowly and limp by her sides, uncomfortable as she recalled the argument from last night.  
She was harsh with him because she never thought she would see him so… Lost. It was the closest to the Armageddon seeing the fierce leader of the Amis de L’Abaissé with that pitiful dim eyes, not matching at all with the beautiful and deep blue of his irises which could take anyone into his world of freedom, equality and fraternity – a beautiful place, indeed, a dream that would never be real if his owner had forgotten all about it.   
How would little boys like Gavroche be able to attend school and be treated equally to the bourgeois children if nobody would join their cause? Would have a decent future, a free future, if the one fighter for it had lost the tracks of why he would do it?   
Enjolras had forgotten the reasons he ended up in this hospital’s bed and that was something Éponine hadn’t find in her yet to forgive him, even if she knew it was the most childish and stupidest thing she could ever do towards the man who let her be someone who could make a difference and help fight for a better future for her little brother, her beloved little brother that grew up away from her because their parents were a bunch of irresponsible people and scum.   
Things just lost their essence after Gavroche was killed and things suddenly were gone completely when Enjolras told her he didn’t remembered and he was sorry for making her have the worst time of her life.  
Little he knows about the worst time of her life. She was barely eighteen and she was having the least bad time of her life, and it was still pretty much messed up for becoming anything better anytime soon.  
Little he sees Éponine is as broken as the furniture holding the barricade – she would hand over any given time and she didn’t want Enjolras to fall again because she couldn’t bear him. She wouldn’t let him fall even if he had forgotten her a hundred times.   
She had saved him, after all, and she could die with that triumph. She was successful in her promise to Grantaire and he wouldn’t mind if she was to meet him in the after-life sooner than the expected.  
He wouldn’t. Not at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd really like to know your opinions, so... If you could, would you let me your comment? ^_^  
> Thank you and see you later! ♥


	3. Communion

“What do you think of it?” It was all that Joly asked them after his long speech after the quiet dinner.  
He had decided it was time for Enjolras and Éponine to settle their differences aside – including the fact that Enjolras had lost his memory – and to act like grown up. Or try to, at least, because the next day they would have to leave the hospital and, wanting or not, they would have to live together under the same roof to stay away from unwanted attention.  
That was the main reason Joly settled a round table in the middle of the former leader’s room, since it was bigger than Éponine’s room, and they could share a decent meal in good company – maybe they would just forget they had ever argued before and just try to get along again.   
Ancient stories…  
Not exactly, since the only sounds during their entire soup dinner was from their breathings and the silver spoons touching the porcelain. Not pleasant at all. Not to mention the tangible tension you could cut with a knife between the marble, curly haired blonde man and the feisty brunette that didn’t even gaze at each other.  
This has to stop at some point! Joly tried to get calm, smiling gawky at the scenery and trying to pull silly subjects in the table, to get them both to speak. Which, by the way, he had no reaction at all – except for the stale blue eyes glaring ice or the hot staring daggers from the stormy hazel eyes across from him.  
Then, after they all had cleaned their plates in a cumbersome silence, Joly outspoken his idea, in a determined and annoyed voice, wearing down his glasses which meant he wasn’t open to objections – after all, he was the one standing their meaningless argument and he had nothing to do with it.  
“A house outside Paris?!” the appalled acute voice forced the other two heads to face Éponine, wearing her unpleased expression, thin eyebrows knitted together “How can we leave Paris when we know nothing about Marius?!” they could see her shoulders shaking and her arms stiffing at her side.  
“We should send a letter to his grandfather.” Joly answered her, patiently, and Enjolras only shifted the view of his cold, cautious eyes.  
“And what do you expect to write in the letter?!” Éponine asked bluntly, panting nostrils and moving recklessly in her chair “Monsieur Gillenormand, I apologize for disturbing your lovely summer days with such unfortunate news. However, your grandson, who might be dead, has disappeared since he was last seen in the barricade!” she scoffed, pulling herself on her feet, stepping on her unfitting camisole.  
“Éponine…” Joly tried, but she didn’t let him speak.  
“He was your friend, Monsieur!” she accused him, swallowing thickly any kind of weakness. Her eyes darted to Enjolras who expected her to involve him in this “Friend for both of you!” she narrowed her eyes to Enjolras and he held her gaze “Even if you don’t remember him, doesn’t change the fact he was fighting for something you defended more than your own lives!”   
“Enough, Éponine.” Joly told her, carefully, and she glanced at him sideways.  
“Enough was a word I used a lot some days ago, Monsieur.” She drove her stormy brown irises back to Enjolras and he clenched his jaw “I said it many times especially to you.” Éponine lifted her chin high, trying to glare at Enjolras from above.  
“Éponine…” Joly was about to say something again, but it was time for Enjolras to interrupt him while raising a hand and standing up, never looking away at Éponine. He wore a posture he had used many times to defend fiercely his arguments over many subjects – the defense of his beliefs. He used to win the arguments after it, although making many people angry at the way he said them “Good Lord, here we go…” Joly leaned at the back of his chair and covered his face with his hands.  
“As I told you before, Mademoiselle, and I believe you do remember,” his deep voice engulfed the room, his sharply tone strictly directed to Éponine and she felt her heart flipping in her chest. His thick blonde brows furrowed and his stale eyes looking down at her “I have never had the intention of forgetting anyone, including Marius Pontmercy.” Enjolras enjoyed talking this way, exhibiting his deep thoughts in meaningful words. He didn’t mind doing so and he spoke as if he had done it his entire life – it might just be true – he had to make Éponine understand he couldn’t lie to her, he couldn’t tell her things she wanted to hear because it would spare him the trouble of arguing or being annoyed. He had to be convincing “Now, if you would listen to me carefully, I agree with you about the letter to Monsieur Gillenormand.” And Enjolras darted his eyes to Joly quickly, who wasn’t very glad at that, going back to her face soon after, seeing the puzzled expression taking over the distraught grim “However, we obviously cannot stay here.”  
“Because we were all supposed to be dead!” Éponine scoffed, angry.  
“That’s not the point.” Enjolras didn’t skip and it made her blood boil – he had just discarded her without ceremony.  
“Of course it is!” She insisted, folding her arms at his deadly stare “If our bodies weren’t missing, then, we wouldn’t have the National Guard behind us!” Enjolras shook his head and turned to Joly who was almost amused at their bickering.  
“I do not believe the National Guard to know exactly who we are. If I’m correct,” Enjolras leaned a hand over the table, his polished posture smoothly inclining his head towards Joly while he spoke, and giving the friend the most nostalgic moment he’s had since the marble man had recovered “They have the knowledge of our names, not our appearance.” His brows arched waiting for Joly’s word. Éponine was gasping in his back, mildly shocked at Enjolras’ capability of being calculative at times like this when a dead friend was missing.  
Enjolras gestured for a mesmerized Joly to say something and the clumsy friend gulped, nodding “I-I guess, yes.” He’s back! Joly’s thoughts were in awe to his leader-friend, putting his index finger in his lips as he walked around the table, thinking of what to do.  
“Then, what?! They don’t know how we look, yeah – but they know people are missing!” Éponine pushed, frowning deeply.  
“They will take a while to get to us until they are certain who we are.”   
“Oh, really?” Éponine stepped towards Enjolras until she was fully under his gaze, in front of him, forcing he head up and narrowing her eyes, her posture mimicking his with one hand over the table and the other, as a flourish of her own, in her tiny waist. Sarcasm spilling out of her “What makes you so sure they won’t just sent the dogs after us when they had us figured out?!”   
Although not appreciating her mocking tone, Enjolras pushed him off the table, controlling an annoyed and painful throb behind his ear – also a grimace over Éponine disbelief in his words.  
However, before Enjolras could’ve had time enough to think of an answer for Éponine, his mind went on an automatic reply starting a rush through his entire body and boiling his blood “They are in no position of exposing how the justice of the monarchy works.” He felt his breathing a bit irregular and he felt another throb in his ear, then he leaned back in the table with both hands, feeling the room swirling around him.  
He just had a flashback and it was a completely inappropriate one – one flashback which had him and someone of his family arguing about the monarchy, someone very intelligent and definitely educated, who had told him the King’s justice couldn’t be on another scandal and, as a way to cut the issue from the root, the police would do anything to silence any possible threat – even Enjolras’ small revolutionary group would be annihilated.  
Joly stood up quickly and stepped closer to the friend, putting his hand reassuringly in his back and Éponine was scared. She had only seen Enjolras that way once – and it was when she carried him back from the barricade, when he had a quick and painful conscious moment, when their gazes lock and she told him to keep holding on.

“I won’t forget you…” he grunted, fighting his heavy eyelids.  
“Of course you won’t!” Éponine replied, pulling him the entire way through the narrow alley, Joly short behind them. She had tears in her eyes and she tried to stay calm, but her voice faltered and her body betrayed her “You’re Enjolras! You do not forget!” she said trying to be lighthearted, in vain – there was no way it would be a light situation. They were both shot and dragging themselves through narrow alleys while running away from an army! Not light at all!  
“Éponine!” his deep voice full of restrained pain, he could still stop her from walking and saying anything. She paid attention to his fluttering dark blue eyes “I will not forget you.” He swallowed thickly and grunted again, she pushed him to continued walking, but he held her there, pulling her back to gaze at her watering eyes “I promise!”  
And, yet, he did forget her.

It’s not time to think about it, Éponine! She mentally slapped herself, grabbing his arm to steady him while Joly told him to go back to bed, he had to rest, all those things Joly said about their wounds and they having strained themselves too much after those serious injuries.  
“I’m alright.” His voice pulled her out of her thoughts and he tried to pull himself from them.  
“You’re anything but alright, Enjolras!” Joly hissed, leading the blonde man to his bed.  
“I’m telling you I’m alright.” Enjolras said a bit rude, though Joly wasn’t the one to complain about it.  
“Stop being stubborn for once in your life and listen to people who care about you!” Éponine scolded him, feeling how he could barely walk by himself and thanking for Joly to be around or she wouldn’t be able to carry him to any one of the beds.  
Enjolras shook his head and tried effortlessly to free his arms from the duo, tightening his grip at one of the wooden chairs in the middle of the candle lit room and, steadying his feet flatly in the ground, feeling the cold turning down the heat waving through his body.  
Apparently, he had became a marble statue and won’t let go of the chair, then Joly decided to let go of him; Éponine wasn’t sure about it, so she kept a firm grip around his forearm, feeling his muscle underneath his warm skin and focusing on something that wasn’t related to how strong his arms seemed to be in her bony hands.  
“I do not expect to hear this from you.” Enjolras replied bluntly, looking down and trying to convince his mind the floor was still above him. He could hear Éponine gasping, though.  
“Who else would you expect to hear from, then?” She questioned, offended “Joly’s obviously too kind to tell you this and the ones who weren’t afraid of your hot temper are dead!” she knew she was being harsh, but Éponine just couldn’t be completely skeptical to his lack of sense.   
A moment ago he was being the careful Enjolras, telling others what to think before acting and not to panic; now, when it comes to him, the first thing he do is push them away without regarding his own condition, without even thinking twice.   
And she felt his head darting towards her direction, his jaw clenching and his cold irises having her in aim, shooting daggers at her soul and digging holes into her heart “I’m not your burden.” She could see his nostrils gaping and his shoulder trembling “I’m able to care for myself.”   
“Stop acting like you’re less important than the others!” She approached him, not letting him look away from her, taking advantage of the fact he was giddy enough to dart his eyes away “You’ve done this once and it led you here.” She didn’t gesticulate because he’d probably stop looking at her face, so she just softened her expressions.  
“And others to their death.” He said swallowing the guilty and Éponine knew he only said that because she had told it earlier.  
Great! She felt self-conscious now and regretful for bursting out on him the second night on the hospital.   
“And you’re alive!” she said determined, her face very close to his, her voice even. The fact that would force the leader to think about it and Éponine already knew how to answer all of his clever arguments from there.  
“With no memory, it does not mean much.” Enjolras was hurt and lost different from the fierce and naïve leader of Les Amis.   
Éponine sighed lightly, noticing how he relaxed the grip on the chair and straightened his back, standing until he was much taller than her one more time. Behind them, Joly ran a hand through his hair as the other was safe still on his hips, tired enough to not mention his opinions at the moment.  
“It’s not true.” She murmured to him, her eyes caringly and Enjolras was agog “You had remembered Marius and you had just remembered something now.” He was puzzled by her, much more than before, with the same lost expression “You’ll recover it all someday. You’re already recovering.”  
“I thought you haven’t accepted my apologies.” He replied her, uncertain of her answer and Éponine felt her cheeks burn.  
Why is he so close? She blinked a few times and looked between them, making sure he was steady enough to step back and recover herself after giving away her soft heart.  
She couldn’t really hold a reputation for much longer, could she?  
“Have you not?” Enjolras dared again, furrowing his eyebrows again, his eyes accusingly digging her mind.  
Éponine sighed heavily, rubbing her forehead with her good hand and pulling her hair away from her face “I don’t know.” she admitted and she saw making a downcast raising brows.  
And there was another cumbersome silence ruling the room, not even Joly dared to break it this time. He was too absorbed in thoughts of his own about their moving out of city and he still had visit Musichetta to give her the address to his knew residence – he would be out of city, but not so far away and he could come visit her anytime.  
All of this if Enjolras was right about the King’s Justice worried about scandals involving them and they did have time to hide and run away from them.  
A loud and exhausted yawn came from the tall and gentle student who couldn’t even finds words to apologize himself from the impolite gesture. Both brown and blue eyes were gazing at him and Joly knew he had just made a favor for all of them.  
“You must rest, Monsieur.” Éponine told him, not leaving Enjolras side due her concern of his unsteadiness.  
“All of us, to be honest.” He replied taking two steps to the duo, placing his hand at Enjolras good shoulder, patting him and forcing the curly haired man to glance at him “Will you be alright?”   
Enjolras managed to make a grimace at his friend who made Joly smile amused at how the cautious and extremely intelligent former leader of a revolutionary group could be balky at times like this. Éponine rolled her eyes at the expression and lack of answer of Enjolras.  
“We’re taking the road tomorrow, anyway.” Joly warned them both, taking a longer glare in the petite brunette next to the marble blonde, expecting her protests.  
“If you say so.” She arched her brows, obviously tired of that conversation “I’m not done about Marius, though.” Pointing out for the physician not to forget.  
“What do you think we should do, then?” Joly questioned rubbing the back of his neck and keeping his glasses in the pocket of his coat already around his torso.  
Enjolras was between them, but he didn’t make much effort to follow the exchange of looks. He just stood there listening and paying attention to the details – things that didn’t require much head movement for awhile.  
The brunette shrugged, her eyelids half closed her gaze towards the window showing the lights of Paris at night – poor, still beautiful.  
“Maybe you could write his grandfather a letter.” Both Enjolras and Joly looked at her curiously – was she the wandering contradiction? “The old man loved him, so it will be better for all of us to just be honest.” She sighed and thought about her dead brother and tried to place herself in the old man’s skin “I’d like to know of my grandson, good or bad news.”  
And there was a big hand, soft and careful, smoothing her good shoulder, Joly could be noticed from anywhere “You have a great heart, Éponine.” She heard his compliment and waved it off because it didn’t fit her.  
Not the true Éponine.  
“Alright, then.” Joly looked at Enjolras who had managed to turn and face them, a slightly pale skin in the candle light “I’ll be back in the morning and I want you too wearing decent clothes.” He demanded looking from Éponine to Enjolras and the girl was about to say something, but the physician stopped her “There’s a bag in your room with some clothes that might fit you. Anything will do for now and when we get to the other town; we’ll have custom made clothes. Is it alright for you?”  
“You really shouldn’t be so nice to me, Monsieur Joly.” Éponine said ashamed of his kindness, even if she knew it was all about kindness and he didn’t have her as his charity case – she’d rather think that way or she wouldn’t be able to accept anything from him, including his medical attendance and this was something she couldn’t decline at this extreme moment of her life.  
“But I’m and I’ll always be. You saved my life. I’m indebted with you.” Éponine thought again not to say anything stupid.  
Little he knows about vital debts… If it was her father in her place, he’d extort everything Joly and his family had ever had just with the naïve words of this kind gentleman. And thinking about it, many men had become scum like her family because of her father.  
Definitely, she had awful people as parents – evil people who had pleasure in seeing the others failing for them to grow in life.  
“Merci.” That was all she could reply in the end.  
Joly told Enjolras he had brought some of his things from the Gorbeu and told him he’d like them to be ready early since they had to eat breakfast before leaving Paris for a different city he hadn’t talked about yet – they’d settle things in the morning.  
The physician left the room quickly and excited – Éponine knew it was because he would be seeing his mistress so she had to smile at that, sadly though. She used to smile for everything when she was about to see Marius, when she was around him was much the same.  
Now, all she wanted to do was crying.  
“Do you love Marius?” Éponine chocked at the question, turning abruptly back to face Enjolras who was near his bed with the candleholder in his cabinet lit, hardening the lightened edges of his handsome face.  
Éponine wasn’t sure if it was a trap for another argument – she was tired and she wanted just to leave to her room as soon as possible. She caught herself a little more comfortable near Enjolras than she had expected and it made her slap herself.  
“Do you love-”   
“I heard you the first time.” She replied bluntly, folding her rough edgy arms over her chest and feeling her cheeks burn. She was glad the light had diminished to hide it from Enjolras unforgivable eyes “I guess I did…” she muttered.  
“You guess?” Enjolras inquired, his polished postured as perfect as ever. No one would imagine he had almost collapsed few minutes ago.  
Éponine shrugged, deciding to tell the truth about what she really felt for Marius “I guess I did love him, at some point,” she could see, even though very lightly, his eyebrows frowning at the vague answer as she took her time to continue her confession “I loved the idea of being loved by him. He was sweet and treated me like a true mademoiselle…” she linked her fingers together, looking down and smiling at the good memories of her head “He was humble and naïve, a true gentleman, a charming prince.” She felt her chest crestfallen and her eyes darted away for Enjolras marble face “He gave me hope on something I thought I’d never expect in my entire life.” And her sad, earnest chocolate orbs were back at the deep, absorbing blue, engulfing her in his wondering mind.  
Why did he ask her that?  
She embraced herself, suddenly cold “Why do you want to know?”  
“You jumped in front of him for him to survive.” His voice was all about matter of facts, although he was still puzzled and Éponine knew he wasn’t over “You gave up your life for him to live.” He pointed out and she didn’t know where he was going with it anymore “You either did it for love either to get yourself killed.”   
“And what is your business in my life, again?” she questioned narrowing her brow eyes at his agog expression.  
“I do not know, yet. If you joined the revolutionaries to be there for Marius, then-”  
“What if I did?!” And she was standing right in front of him, gaping her nostrils, her hurting eyes spiting fire “What if I joined Les Amis de L’Abaissé to be with Marius after all?! I still don’t see where you’re in all of this.”  
“Do you not remember? I’m the bastard who sent them all to their grave.” Éponine could see the anger boiling in his face, even in the dark, and she felt herself reddening over it. Even when he was furious his posture didn’t faltered. What a peculiar man “I’m an Ami and you lied when you joined the cause if you were only there for Pontmercy.”   
“Don’t you think you’re taking offense rather too late?” she scoffed, folding her arms and lifting her chin. She could see his jaw clenching.  
“If I were to be thinking chronologically, I shouldn’t even bother because I forgot about them.” He pointed out again and Éponine furrowed her eyebrows.  
“Are we talking about me or about you?”  
“If you would just answer my questions rather making more, we would certainly have come to some point.”   
“Are you telling me I’m evasive?”   
“No need to point it out, honestly.  
“Why do you care?!”  
“I do not know.”  
“And I’m the evasive one?! Alright!” she scoffed, turning around to leave “Well, while you’re inquiring something you have not thought about yet, I’m going to rest because I’m bored and tired.” She saw him shrugging.  
“You’re leaving because you do not want to be honest about yourself.” Éponine turned her hands into fists, controlling herself not to punch him straight on the face.  
“I don’t think I’m going to forgive you anymore!” she said childishly, blushing embarrassed at how it sounded out loud, marching towards the door.  
“It’s rude not to forgive someone who is being honest about the apologies.” He replied pulling his sheets so he could lie down on the bed, not really wanting to face her either.  
This sounds so stupid he couldn’t help himself to think otherwise.  
“After all your clever answers and beautiful words, this is the best you can come up with?!” She waited him reply before opening the door and storming out.  
“You have told me my clever answers and beautiful words are all lies. This is the very me, Mademoiselle.”   
She slammed the door when he had finally rested his head in the pillow, making his head throb in pain. However, he couldn’t find in him reasons to be irritated – it had been amusing to show the feisty brunette he wondered about her mysterious being. Although he had been pushing over the edge after involving Les Amis de L’ABC, he couldn’t see if he was ever rude during their conversation – or would it be a quarrel?  
Impertinent, yes, though never rude. Something she could be both at the same time moments ago.  
And Enjolras had to confess it was interesting how she tried to change the subject to reasons he couldn’t know. He supposed it was a bit embarrassing for women to shout out their love for others, not as harsh as it was for man; however, Éponine surrounded herself of impregnable walls made of irony and indelicacy, even cynical sometimes – Joly had told him she haven’t had a very easy life and in their sick world it was only fair he believed it. Even if Éponine did have her quick-witted replies, she seemed to embrace herself for the others’ reaction, ready to be hurt physically.  
A mysterious Mademoiselle indeed…  
•   
A dream… And there he was thinking he would have a peaceful night of sleep without further ado.  
The next thing he knew he was in this small and dark room, only one candle to illuminate the entire ambient, not succeeding at all. The candleholder over the round, dark wooden table in the center of the room and Enjolras was standing next to it, his hands folded at his back and his blue eyes glaring at the flickering light, he was searching for something.  
For quite some time he stood there, seeing the fire dancing with the sound of thunderstorms outside the shutter in the window, the cracks enlightened sometimes as lightings punished the Earth with their fury.   
What am I doing? He muttered to himself, running a nervous hand through his curly locks, the blonde a bit darker due the water dripping from it. He could hear rain falling outside and he felt his clothes were soaked as well, his red waistcoat heavy around him and his brown boots were almost sinking him to the creaking floor.  
He took off his waistcoat and laid it next to the candleholder, pulling his the sleeves of his white shirt over to his elbows, letting his skin breath. He wasn’t sure what else to do over that.  
“What am I doing?” he asked himself one more time, a bit of twinge in him as he leaned his both hands over the table, continuing to glare at the fire on the candle.  
“Leading them.” His head turned abruptly to side and there was the shadow of a petite and wet brunette, in deep green and burgundy standing by the window. When the silver light came form the cracks he could see her walking to him until she was by the golden reach of the candle, soggy and shivering, though she didn’t seem to notice. She had a soft expression in her square face and high cheeks, a small grin set in her plump lips and digging the dimples in the corner. Her hair blended in the darkness and he could hear the drops hitting the creaking floor as a symphony “Have you seen a ghost?”  
“I might have.” He answered her, pushing away from the table and gazing concerned at her “You’re cold.”  
“I’m not.” She shrugged stopping in front of him, although she was still in the darkness.  
“I was not asking.” She pushed her grin to one side, resting her hands in her tight waist.  
“Are you worried about me?” one thin brow arched. He could feel his Adam’s apple bubble in his neck at her suggestive glance.  
“Of course I’m worried about you.” Answered fixing his blue irises in her brown orbs “You went back that place?” She knew he was talking about the Gorbeu, the house were she shared a small room with her entire family and the bunch of her father’s crooks.  
“I slept in the street.” She replied leaning her hips in the table, lightheartedly.  
“You do not need to sleep in the street, Éponine.” He reprehended her and she had a tauntingly smirk on her face.  
“Are you taking me to your château, Monsieur Enjolras?” a very amused smirk showing her yellow teeth and Enjolras decided to join her provocations.  
“I will certificate myself to bring you there, yes.” She let out a mocking laugh “What is so funny?”  
“You’re so naïve, Enjolras.” She told him, her expression soft, but sad “Can’t you see you alone can’t change the world?”  
“I’m not alone, Éponine. We have our friends and the people.” A fire burning inside of him when he spoke of this people. Éponine shook her head, smiling dreary at him.  
He could feel her cool touch in his hand, she shivered, her eyes fluttering at him and the hesitancy in her teeth biting her lower lip – still, she had to say something about it all and Enjolras knew he wouldn’t enjoy listening to it. She had those flourishes when she was about to tell something unpleasant to him, through them she told him she didn’t want to hurt his feelings.  
“We have Les Amis. The people won’t come.” He frowned at her and thought of pulling his hand away, but she had gripped it with both her hands.  
“They will, Éponine. They told us they will rise when the time comes!” she shook her head and he looked away, breathing unsteady.  
“They aren’t in love with Patria like you and your friends. They don’t think about tomorrow as if it’s so far way as you say it is.” He let go of her hand and turned around, gasping in disbelief and pulling his hands in his hips “Tomorrow is a terrible day and they’ll starve if their husbands and fathers and sons die climbing barricades.”   
“If they don’t climb and fight, they’ll starve either way!” He replied angrily, turning back to face her and eyeing her darting, concerned orbs “They’ll just starve later, that’s all.”  
“Well, later gives them a hope your speech of making the King listen or arising the barricades will never give. Try to understand…”  
“Then we’ll prove them wrong!” He clenched his jaw and fisted his hands, stiffing his arms in his sides. He saw the thin arms closing in front of her as she embraced herself, looking down and shivering “You’re very cold.” Suddenly he had forgotten his rage and moved back to stand closer to her.  
She shook her head, trembling slightly and darting her eyes from his face “I’m alright. I’ve been through worst.” She rubbed her hands strongly up and down her arms, trying to warm them.  
He swallowed thickly, feeling his face reddening as he closed the distance between them, putting his hands over her arms and squeezing them just like she was doing. Her hazel, stormy eyes gazed up at him, wide and stunned at his reaction. He held her like this for awhile, his throat in a knot impending him of speaking what he was about to say – he could see a red staying her prominent cheek bones and the darkness had fled from her as the golden light warmed them, the red of the fire their witness.  
“I will prove them wrong.” He told her, his deep gaze never leaving her awestruck irises “I will give France to you, Éponine.” And he could feel his entire self burning up as a genuine smile graced her brown, plump lips, dimples in the corners and the bright of hope striking her hazel eyes.  
“I’m looking forward to it.”


	4. Patria

As promised, Joly arrived early that morning, accompanied by a beautiful and tall mademoiselle, of skin kissed by sun and long, curly ebony locks, of big eyes and full eyelashes and lips as red as rose. Éponine had heard a lot about her, but the gamine never thought the opera singer to be so stunning – Joly stopped bringing her to the Café Musain short after the feisty brunette had officially joined Les Amis de L’ABC, claiming to be much dangerous for her as the day of the revolution approached.  
And she was extremely beautiful indeed. Éponine could remember Courfreyac telling Joly the mademoiselle was far too much for the gentle and clumsy medical student. However, Joly just waved him off with a sweet, almost fool, smile on his lips, his eyes darting at the horizon for awhile and Éponine knew he was thinking of her.  
Well, he and Musichetta were leaning their heads on each others shoulder as the chariot coursed towards the small village five hours from Paris, somewhere in the North of France. She could see the soft expression on the clean face of the mademoiselle and the relaxed countenance of Joly. Then, Éponine could say that Musichetta loved the medical student and the monsieur loved the opera singer as well, so it doesn’t really mattered how they looked in the outside.  
“When there is love, it is all that matters.” She remembered once hearing her mother when she had been drunk enough and upset enough to claim out loud the reasons she did what she did for her father.   
At least, at that night, although the old and tiny, really feisty and snarky, woman being utterly drunk, unable to move from her spot in the ground, had a pleasant conversation over their deceptions in life with her eldest daughter – the night after Azelma had been dragged by the police to the women prison on the outskirts of the city.  
Éponine felt a small smile tugging in one side of her face, her hazel eyes soft over the scene in front of her – the last time she had seen so much love was when she lead Marius to Cosette and they declared each other in beautiful vows she envied not being hers and his.   
Although, now, all Éponine could think about was poor Cosette dealing with Marius being gone, not even really knowing what had happened to him. It pained the gamine to think about the two of them; however, Cosette had been good to her when they were children together – if only she hadn’t been the stupid brat she was, maybe she could’ve tried a civilized conversation with the beautiful mademoiselle she came to be and even, who knows, become friends with her.  
There was Marius in the middle, of course – him and his freckled, oblivious face, of green dreamy eyes and sweet smile making his tanned skin shiny, contrasting the brown in his hair. Éponine had promised herself to count every single freckle once when he had accidently fell asleep over one table at the Café, a bit drunk after spending some time with Grantaire, and mumbled some silly things that made her laugh.   
She never finished counting, though…  
“Do you love Marius?” Éponine felt her cheeks flush at the question ringing in her ears again.  
She couldn’t even try to forget the troublesome monsieur sitting next to her in the chariot – she would’ve much appreciated to share the velvet cushion with the beautiful singer or even the physician, but she would just be in their way and Éponine couldn’t do that to someone she had just officially met. So she would have to bear with the marble young man leaning in the padded red velvet of the chariot walls, his blond curls shining brighter as the sunlight hit them through the small windows.   
She could see the dark circles around his wandering eyes, the deep blue meeting the moving green of the nature outside; she could see the blonde eyelashes heaving his red eyelids, sore from being rubbed since they had come into silence short after leaving the outskirts of Paris. She could tell he had a wretched night of sleep from his exhausted, calm face and his unusual extended yawns, which he covered with his right hand in a fist, forcing his broad chest to puff slowly, filling the red waistcoat he was so fond of – one of the many he owned, Éponine figured since the barricade waistcoat had become a cloth full of holes, in which there was many layers of stained dark blood, dust and powder – and closing his eyes, making it harder for him to open every time.  
Was it all because of their conversation the night before? She wasn’t very certain to say, though she could blame herself a little after saying all those things and telling him she wouldn’t forgive him after all – in a shameful, childish form of ever not forgiving someone…  
She flushed at the thought, unused to the feeling of being uncomfortable at making others uneasy – or proving Enjolras the only point him and his friends had of her: she was just a girl, barely woman enough to hold an argument against the leader of Les Amis de L’ABC.   
If it did had to do with her, however, Éponine felt her heart racing at the recollection of thoughts, running her eyes up and down the marble man wearing his casual, though different to her, clothes – the brown trousers and black leather boots, the white, long sleeved shirt underneath the waistcoat and a cravat of many tonalities of brown. It seemed a bit too warm for the season, but she figured the monsieur would only have that clothes in one piece compared to the tore and slightly cool vests he wore during the barricade – and, yes, there were clothes on him when she dragged him from the battlefield towards the hospital.  
“I won’t forget you…” she cursed herself for thinking about it again, blushing and feeling sad.  
“It’s rude to stare, Mademoiselle.” She heard his deep voice; he hasn’t turn to meet her blush.  
She quickly changed her eyes from him, glancing at the cuddling couple in front of them and making her flush more over her latest thoughts. She attached at the wall by her side and decided fiercely to glare at the nature, almost sending it on fire as she reprehended herself over her ridiculous actions when she was by Enjolras.  
After all, he had forgotten her! She should just do the same and stop being incomprehensible even to herself!  
“Did I startle you?” his tired, hoarsely voice sounded again, this time turned towards her and Éponine couldn’t look into his indigo orbs. She didn’t reply, feeling goose bumps “I apologize for being rude to your rudeness.”   
“Not much of an apology, then.” She mumbled, snorting and glancing over her shoulder at him.   
As she had expected and as always, his eyes trying to read her like an open book – but, wait… His indigo eyes were grasping at her, his blonde eyebrows knitted together examining her frame. He was almost turned full towards her, shifting in his seat without breaking his polished and perfect stance.  
She scoffed, rolling her eyes back to the nature beyond the glass window “And I’m rude staring.” She muttered not so low, this way she was sure he would answer.  
At least the trip wouldn’t be so boring if they would bicker each other the entire journey.  
“You would not accept it anyways.” She felt her eyes narrowing and she turned around at his tease. She saw one of his tired brows arching waiting for her reply.  
“At least I did stop staring when you pointed it out loud.” She hissed, folding her arms over the dress Musichetta had lent her, way bigger than she was, even if the garments were beautiful yellow flowers and laces, it still looked like she was wearing a sack of potatoes.  
“I assume you can be self-conscious some times.” He shrugged as turned back to his window.  
“Why won’t you just go back to sleep and let me be?” she creased the flesh between her dark, thin brows, gripping her arms as tightly as her wounded hands would let her.  
He was aware to her replies now, glancing at her over his shoulder and distancing from the back of the seat, his eyes bemused at her statement “I have not fallen asleep.” She grinned indulgently at his hiss, hitting his taunting spot.  
“If it pleases you, Monsieur.” She waved him off, glaring back at her window “I know what I saw.” And he shifted in his seat again, almost making her giggle.  
“I haven’t fallen asleep. It would be impolite.” Enjolras insisted, not very sure of his own plea.   
Éponine shrugged and motioned her head towards Joly and Musichetta almost snoring across from them “It didn’t stop them.” And then her stormy hazel orbs had him fully in her sight, again, uneasy and tired, yet as handsome as a marble statue.  
And sitting next to her in a not much spacious chariot. Her throat itched and her heart flopped inside her chest.  
“Not even we stopped them.” Enjolras said scathingly, shrugging slightly and resting again at the back of the chariot, closing his heavy eyes and breathing deeply. Éponine was mesmerized by his graceful gestures as he pinched the bridge of his nose and murmured something that she was very sure she was supposed to hear.   
“Pardon?” and he dropped his hand, looking at her with his head touching the velvet in the wall of the chariot, careful not to hit it too roughly and pain the wounded place.  
“I’m the one being far too rude. I haven’t slept well last night and I’m just treating you badly.” He did not look at her, definitely frustrated at himself.   
Éponine shrugged at his attempt on an apology and smiled small to self. He seemed the Enjolras from before the barricade, suddenly, and it made her heart get a little warm and her temper a little less turmoil.   
“Not that rude.” The brunette let out halfheartedly and the indigo orbs wandered to her, stunned over her forgiveness and the soft expression drawn on her scrawny, dimpled face.  
He felt his throat in a node, gulping whatever he was about to say and taking it as unnecessary, his eyes digging in the stormy ones next to him, recalling the dream from last night and the skittish expression she wore during the memory – although hardened from life, the young lady could still put a smile at her chapped lips to relief the tension around him, even after a quarrel.  
His face turned around abruptly, making Éponine jump in her seat and wonder what the hell just happened to the so composed marble man. Did she just spot his face turning red or was the reflection from the sunlight hitting the red in the walls of the chariot?  
Enjolras tried to focus his gaze at the moving scenery outside the window, but his mind drifted away back to the dream in which she held his hands in hers and smiled genuinely at him, trusting her entire world in his beautiful and clever words.  
And even if she had warned him, he turned his back on her and closed his eyes to the reality, sending his friends to their grave without thinking twice. Now he started to understand why she couldn’t forgive him – he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself after remembering everything from his lost past.  
“You may sleep, Monsieur.” He heard her soft voice, but he couldn’t face her due his burning face “I won’t take it personally.” It had a hint of amusement, though certain of her earnestly “Nor will I talk about it when you try to embarrass me.”   
“I’d appreciate that, Mademoiselle.” He replied honestly, feeling the weariness consuming him as the mild lull of the chariot drove him into his own world of lost and forgotten dreams.  
•   
“This place couldn’t be more lovely, Morrice!” Musichetta exclaimed grabbing Joly’s arms and squeezing him tightly, the biggest smile on her red lips as her big eyes shining at the maison of two stores, salmon colored brick walls, of lengthy and transparent windows garrisoned in alb granite, a flowered wonderful garden and rock hedges. The rooftop of white bricks and from the front she could spot four smokestacks.  
Éponine couldn’t decide whether she was stunned by the outstanding architecture, humored to know Monsieur Joly’s first name or the twisted notion the bourgeois have of the expression lying low.   
“This is my family winter house.” He confessed, a sweet and nostalgic smile taking over his face as he motioned for his group, his cheeks flushed over the mention of his name.  
Éponine whistled standing in the front door along the two gentlemen and the opera singer, looking up at the building, awestruck by the giant structure in front of her – it might not be that big inside, yet it was the fanciest thing she had ever stepped inside. It remembered a little of General Lamarque’s enormous house, but she never got a chance of entering it. It was indeed beautiful, but it claimed much attention to others eyes – not to mention it was outside the small village, which meant they wouldn’t have much chance of blending in with the common people and they would continue to drag attention.  
She would have to speak seriously with Morrice Joly after Mademoiselle Musichetta had left to Paris – she wouldn’t be able to stay since she had to work at Thursday and prepare herself for the play.  
Well, she would speak as serious as she could be while calling Joly Monsieur Morrice.  
Éponine glanced at the blonde bourgeois next to her and she noticed that Enjolras wasn’t much stunned by the sight. His countenance was nonchalant and his indigo eyes were in somewhere between bored and exhausted – she guessed his naps during the five hours journey in the shaking chariot had not been enough to satiate his lack of sleep from the last night and she could see his stiff shoulders heavier than usual.   
Well, that house for Enjolras must not been that awestruck because he’s a bourgeois and he got to live in fancy homes much wealthier than this, Éponin figured rolling her eyes indignantly at his skeptical stance. A very spoiled brat – the houses didn’t shock him but the fact she loved Marius let him wondering.  
Indeed, a very spoiled bourgeois!  
“Éponine!” the melodically voice of the singer claimed the brunette’s attention, turning her head sharply towards the tall lady next to her holding her small, bony and calloused hands in her soft, smooth fingers of long and painted nails. Musichetta was almost Enjolras’ height and it was a bit intimidating for the gamine, not to mention her woman’s body compared to the scrawny Jondrette girl – at that, Éponine felt her cheeks burn “Let’s go, ma chérie! We have much to see here.” The feisty, brunette didn’t have it in her to flinch under the joyful gaze of the big eyes and, hence, gave up her defenses.  
“Alright, Mademoiselle.” She mumbled grabbing handfuls of the fabric in the skirt for her not to step on it and fall on herself. It was much humiliating to wear a sack of potatoes, not to mention making a bigger fool out of herself than she was already being.  
“Musichetta, mon amour.” Joly called after them when they were heading to the entrance hall, glancing over their small shoulders at the gentlemen still in the doorway. Musichetta had this curious expression in her excited face and Éponine was almost desperate for the young physician to say something “I think Éponine is tired of the travel. Due her wounds, it would be better for her to rest.” He had a concerned countenance and he was striding towards them, Enjolras walking slowly behind in his unbreakable stance, examining his surroundings.  
“Oh…” the singer turned her attention to Éponine, her face suddenly self-conscious and worried over the feisty brunette. She almost felt bad for how pitiful the big eyes looked at her “I apologize, Éponine. I-I…” she was struggling with her words, blushing and looking down, letting Éponine’s hand go.  
Éponine barely knew the Opera singer and if they were in other circumstances, the ones she used to live before the barricade, when she would find people of Musichetta’s kind to be forcing themselves on a friendship to impress the others and prove to have generous soul, all that kind of stuff bourgeois did to diminish their guilt on having more privileges than others, the gamine would decline the warm treatment Musichetta was giving her and would be real, not to mention rude, towards her, warning her she could be poor, indeed, but she didn’t need to be anyone’s charity case or a prove of their self-consciousness over their social status.   
Under those circumstances, she would probably be working to her father and for Patron-Minette, and she would just grab Musichetta’s leather coin purse and ran away with her francs.  
Nevertheless, Éponine didn’t find in her the will of being mean for such a naïve and harmless mademoiselle who happened to lend her clothes to a dirt girl from the streets and help her dress them, not bothering to take her wounded hands in hers, ever so cautious, smile widely at her scrawny and injured figure just because she had agreed on explore their new surroundings.   
Even if it was completely obvious their contrasting backgrounds for others, Éponine could see with her hazel eyes that it didn’t matter for this beautiful woman by her side, worried about her well-being and her broken body.   
Musichetta was much more than appearances and Éponine felt ashamed of thinking otherwise.  
Musichetta was retreating to the stone doorframe, embracing herself and trying to hid her embarrassed face when Éponine shook her head and grabbed her smooth hands in hers, abruptly forcing the big and wide eyes at her face “Mademoiselle-”  
“Musichetta.” She insisted meekly and Éponine could only smile at that.  
“Musichetta,” Éponine corrected herself and made the red, soft lips curve upwards “I’m don’t feel tired.” And she glanced back at the tall student paying attention to their conversation while his butler made his way past the door towards him and Enjolras “And I would love to walk around with you.” And there it was again, the brightest smile showing all her teeth and half-closing her eyes.  
Well, Éponine could leave with those smiles.  
“Are you sure?” Musichetta tightened slightly her soft grip around Éponine’s hand as the little one nodded lightly, a small grin on her lips “Alright then! Come along!”  
“Musichetta!” they could hear his protests.  
She turned around; walking backwards with such grace and easy Éponine could swear she was sliding, one hand holding the bandaged hand of Éponine as the other moved to her lips and waved a kiss from her full lips to the clumsy and now flushing Joly in the large entrance of the house. Then Musichetta was giggling and forcing Éponine to chuckle at that. They went to the right, entering a long hallway and out of the gentlemen sight.  
Joly sighed, frustrated, rubbing his neck and keeping a hand in his pocket, with his green eyes closed and the brown hair in a mess - not to mention the burning cheeks of his long face. Enjolras stood by him, his hands behind his back and his deep gaze taking in the big house.  
“Monsieur Joly, welcome back.” The butler bowed slightly and smiled warmly, his clear eyes crinkled in the corners behind the glasses due his overage. He wore a light beige suit and a blue cravat, increasing the lightening air around him to his grey hair and white skin.  
“No need this, Beni!” Joly told the butler and saw the old man opening his arms, much smaller than the student, who squeezed him in a breathless hug “Old man, I missed you.”   
Beni composed himself after letting go the lad, nodding and sighing relieved “Needless to say you were very much missed, Monsieur.” And, then, his gaze was a reprehensive one “We were deadly worried about you.”   
Enjolras knew what the glare towards his friend meant. Joly’s family must have been warned about the barricade events by him and noticing, as a matter of fact, a wealthy bourgeois household couldn’t let their child homeless after surviving a battle – all in all, a battle was still a battle and turning out alive of it meant pride and honor, as long as the part in which they ran away was kept in secret.  
“I know. I apologize for troubling you.” Joly bowed slightly, not ashamed at all and, hence, spotting Enjolras next to him. He pushed the man in the red waistcoat closer in a half hug and smiled friendly to him and to the butler, patting the blonde’s chest in a playful way and careful not to hurt him “Beni, I’d like you to meet my close friend, Grégoire Enjolras.” And the blonde winced at the name.  
The butler turned to the blonde student, eyeing him briefly and bowing shortly. Enjolras cut him from such treatment extending his right hand for the old monsieur to greet him in an equal sign that would mostly turn his staying in the house a bit less whelming – maybe explain Beni Enjolras wasn’t better than anyone else inside that maison.  
“Monsieur.” Beni took the hand, plugging this one-sided grin in his wasted face and the curly blonde let a ghost of a smile grace his lips.  
“Monsieur Beni, I sincerely appreciate your hospitality.” His bowed a little, moving the curls to his face. He had to run his other hand in it to pull them away.  
"I shall feel the same way.” The light eyes of the butler wandered Enjolras’ body again, obviously understanding that the blonde had been in the same event his young master was and almost died. He could see a prominent bandage behind his right ear and frowned slightly “This must be troubling you.” He pointed being friendly, hiding his hand behind his back.  
Enjolras shrugged slightly, lightheartedly, going back to his perfect stance “It’s much better now, I can assure you.”  
“Would you like to rest from the journey for now, Messieurs?” Beni wondered, turning around to guide them through the house.  
They were tired, Enjolras was exhausted and he could feel his wound throbbing behind his ear, though the injury in his left shoulder wasn’t bothering him anymore. Joly had a completely crooked posture while following his old butler and was struggling to keep up, therefore he practically dragged himself in the corridor the mademoiselles had just went by.   
However, Joly told Enjolras that Musichetta would be back to Paris in two days and he wanted to make the most out of their time. Enjolras kept to himself the thought that the opera singer had just traded him for the feisty brunette.  
“I’d like to find Musichetta first and then I’ll put my slumber in order.” Joly calmed down the butler who nodded obediently, thinking of where the couple of ladies would have gone to and the tall student decided to walk next to the blonde friend, pacing slowly “What do you think of this place?” he had a clumsy smile in his tired face.  
Enjolras nodded, arching both brows “It’s definitely a beautiful winter house, my friend.” And Joly disrupted the smile, knowing Enjolras had something else to say “However, it’s not the exactly idea of not dragging attention.” The indigo eyes weren’t harsh on the goodhearted young man beside him. They were just being true.  
Joly rubbed his neck, shrugging slightly “I understand. I wanted to go to somewhere smaller, but my parents have already gone to the summer house on the coast and after they found out I wasn’t dead, they obliged me to come here where Beni can take a look in me.” He said rolling his eyes and Beni glared at the both young men over one shoulder.  
“And I shall look after you as if you were a toddler.” Joly flushed at that and Enjolras smile sideways quickly enough not to let the friend know.  
“I’m not, though, and I have company, so you can’t just break in my room every hour.” Joly replied childishly, narrowing his green eyes and folding his arms.  
“You’re only safe for this weekend, Morrice.” And there was a devilish smirk on the old man’s wrinkly face.  
Joly grunted, hiding his face behind his hands and mumbling something about the old man picking on him whenever he was around. Enjolras couldn’t help feeling amused over the nearly family reunion in front of him. It was much overwhelming it gave him some nostalgic feelings to his forgotten past, before the barricade, before going to Paris and studying to be a lawyer – Joly had told him that much when they were alone in his room waiting for Musichetta helping Éponine to dress her.  
Something about a man very dear to him, explaining him things and promising to keep an eye on him whenever he was about to get himself in troublesome situations – someone he loved with all his mighty, but, suddenly, was gone before Enjolras could even begin to picture the important person to his life.  
And he was back at his blankness, clueless of most of his surroundings and uneasy at the feeling of being an outsider to his own life, to his own mind and heart, feeling betrayed by all he once believed and turned against him when he had lost it all – all of his memories were much like Éponine, they didn’t forgive him and they weren’t willingly to do for now.  
The lack of awareness was slowly killing him.  
“Stop saying you’re going to die for Patria!” a raspy voice yelled at him, annoyed over his new speech.  
Those memories coming on inappropriate moments were definitively disturbing him. But he wouldn’t complain if some of his question could be answered by his own recalls rather than Éponine or Joly.  
He was in a room crowded, many voices around him ceased to pay attention at the female in the corner of the room, the only face he could distinguish in the blurry faces around in the yellow candle light, her hair covered by a beige, warn out cap darkening her somber face – meantime, he could say it was the first time he had ever seen her.  
He felt his eyes narrowing and his nostrils gaping. He hated being interrupted in the middle of his brilliant speech, because it was clearly something outstanding for all those people to be singing and cheering his ideals.   
“I will die for Patria.” He insisted, letting his paper go from his hand as it followed to the table underneath him, all the eyes over him and the unpleasant brunette glaring daggers at him. He put his hands in his belt, his red waistcoat resting in the back of a chair behind him “And I shall do it proudly.”  
“People don’t care about pride!” she replied angrily, fisting her calloused hands “People have lost their virtues long ago and won’t fight for something that will give them pride!” the other eyes were back on Enjolras, waiting for his reply.  
“And what for will they fight if they have lost their virtues?”   
“If they’re ever going to fight in this revolution of yours,” she said offhandedly, pushing herself off the wall and gesturing wildly with her hands “They will fight for food in their bellies and for rooftops over their heads, money to soothe them, if you truly want to know what the people is capable of.” Although the acridity in the end, she was being the true.   
“Giving them knowledge through education and medical attendance will help all of them to have what they are aiming.” She snorted, rolling her eyes and almost crackling in disbelief “It’s not some deed to laugh, mademoiselle.”  
“No. It’s completely the opposite of laughing.” She replied not missing a beat, her stormy eyes targeting him flawlessly over the crowd of young and taller men than her scrawny frame ever would be “This is something to cry on because rabid young bourgeois are going to sacrifice themselves for those who have no intent on claiming their rights!” and now she was making her way towards Enjolras, her face full of anger opened her path through the multitude, the schoolboys scared of her. Though Enjolras wasn’t scared of her grimace “You’re rebellious because you want a free France, kingless and righteous. And, dare I say, you’re using the poor to get what you want!”   
“We’re doing it for all citizens of France.” Enjolras replied dryly, spitting poison through his words.  
“Not all citizens of France wear torn clothes or layers of filthy over their skin!” She opened her thin arms as an example, taking off her cap and keeping it in her coat pocket, while gesturing for every man in the room. Every eye in her and she was so furious she didn’t care. There was a spark in her Enjolras had never seen before, not even in himself “Not all citizens of France” she scoffed, mimicking his deep voice “starve to death, sleeping in cobblestones covered in dirt and shit of the citizens of France.” She glanced back at Enjolras, her eyes watering but never breaking a tear “Not all citizens of France are completely clueless of their situation or what they represent for society, Messieurs.”   
“What is your point, mademoiselle?” Enjolras wondered, folding his arms and without breaking his polished stance over the table. He knew what she was talking about, but he’d rather hear it from her than supposing.  
She snorted and a quick bitter smirk lay in her cracked lips, her arms falling limp to her sides as she inclined her head to meet the indigo eyes “My point, Monsieur, is exactly what I’m saying. Not all citizens of France are poor and desperate; like everyone in this room but me.” She turned her head around, sending accusingly glares at the bourgeois in the meeting “And people like me are probably the majority, but there are many of your kind also.” Her loathe focused in his face again “My point is why only you of the bourgeois would be interested in dying for your Patria when you barely know it? You pity the poor, everyone knows.” She said bluntly looking around again, daring anyone to say otherwise “Right now, I can see you almost weeping over my horrid appearance, my smell and what I represent.” The brunette shrugged, making a disgusted face “I can say I weep for you, also, for being clueless over whatever you’re praying. You can’t be serious while talking about the poor as if you knew them, because you don’t!” she exclaimed pointing to Enjolras “You know what you see and what you make of it! And it’s much worse than what it seems!  
“No one will ever join your cause if they see clean, young men, over a platform in front of a parliamentarian’s house, wearing nice clothes and a bit tight around their belts because they’ve just had their meal and are full – they might’ve even thrown away the food because they couldn’t eat much more!” her voice was appalled just from thinking of it. She had all eyes over her, but she wasn’t bothered by them. She had her argument, and Enjolras would have to give in sometime – it was, for the lack of better exclamatory words, a hell of an argument “The poor have no virtues, but they’re not fools as you may say they are! They’ll see rebellious schoolboys scandalizing the King, they’ll join for the rush of the moment and they’ll run away short after afraid of the police to lock away from their families!  
“They will not die for Patria, nor will they die for you, and you’re all fools if you think otherwise.” She closed her speech, leaving all the bourgeois astounded. She put her cap back on her head roughly while making her way towards the stairs, the young lads opening the path and making sure she wouldn’t stare at them.  
Near the balustrade there was a young man, of freckles and goofy face, widened eyes at the speech of his friend as she made her way towards him “Pardon, Monsieur Marius, but I can’t stand another minute in here. See you around.” She huffed and raised her head high, gritting her chin and going down the wooden stairs without turning around to face the dumbfounded bourgeois.  
And it was the first time they had meet, Enjolras could feel himself as if he had been slapped right across his face as he was back at Joly’s winter house, heading towards the east parlor, a round spacious room with fresco paintings in the walls and a crystal chandelier. He could feel his head throbbing and the light coming from the huge windows and the open door wasn’t making it better – not to mention the giggles from the mademoiselles was extremely nagging.  
Enjolras was agog therefore he couldn’t understand he had almost none memory of his past, his student friends who died at the barricade he initiated, yet he could recall some few moments with the skinny brunette outside in the balcony, in which they were arguing or being extremely close towards each other – the leader of Les Amis de L’ABC had to think quickly about those moments before feeling his cheeks burn and giving away his thoughts.   
He wasn’t complaining, after all he was recalling some of his life. The only incognita was why Éponine was another main character in his mind? What happened for her to be so stuck in his lost, confused mind? Why, all of a sudden, did he think of her stormy, chocolate orbs?  
“Enjolras, you’re sleepwalking.” The blonde shook his head, blinking a few times and meeting the green, lightheartedly irises of Joly who motioned towards the door to the balcony “You can go ahead to your room, if you want. I’ll just tell them where their rooms are and I’m going to rest.” Yes. Joly was definitely tired, and he was tugging at his injured leg since they had landed from the chariot. And now, having Enjolras a little less messed up and under inspection, Éponine also, his shoulders didn’t seem as heavy as before and he earned his peaceful and pleasant sleep.  
“Joly.” Enjolras patted his shoulder, his eyes soft and stunning the taller friend “You’ve done enough, my friend. You should go ahead to your room and I can tell them where they’ll be staying.”   
“You don’t know the house.” He said as a matter of fact and the blonde arched his brows, agreeing at his opposition.  
“I know it like the back of my hand, Morrice.” Beni intervened from behind the duo – Enjolras hadn’t noticed he had just passed by the old, fine butler – and gave a concerned glance at his young master “And I’ll assist Monsieur Enjolras while you go rest.”  
“But…” Joly pouted, feeling left out as the indigo eyes glared at Beni and thanked him for saying so “I want Musichetta to join me.” He sounded rather childish if you would not mind the deep blush staining his cheeks in red.  
Beni huffed and Enjolras took the lead, once more, his eyes demanding “I’ll tell her to meet you, my friend. No need to be sad.”  
Joly shrugged after glancing at the both serious men talking to him and, finally, gave up his little peeves. Turning around to go back through the long hallway they just went by, asking some maid in the way he would like to take a bath and retire, soon being led to his chambers by the old lady.  
Enjolras turned back to Beni who was staring at him “Is everything alright?”  
“You seem lost, Monsieur.” The butler wondered, arching one eyebrow and the blonde Ami knew he wasn’t talking about his new living place.  
Enjolras nodded slowly, sighing and rubbing his back “It’s somewhat troublesome.” Cleared way too exhausted to begin the explanation he was told by Joly about how the bullet skimmed his head during the battle five days ago and made him lost all recordation of his life.  
“That’s why it’s called life.” Beni replied shrugging and motioning towards the balcony, Enjolras keeping his pace in a few seconds, a wondering countenance as he paid attention to the butler’s words “Even so, it’s much better for you to be alive and lost than dead and gone.”   
Enjolras breathed deeply “I suppose.” His gaze falling on the small brunette grabbing the solid granite guardrail, the wind blowing on her half up coiffure made by Musichetta.   
The dress was much larger in the tiny gamine, the sleeves were loosen around her skinny arms and they would slid down almost every time from her bony shoulders, revealing the bandages coming over the right side of her collar bone to her neck; the white bodice was as tightened as it could be and Enjolras could still see her body moving free in the supposed clinging array; the yellow flowered garment in the skirt crawled in a good portion on the floor below them and it had dirtied since she had first stepped in the streets of Paris to get to the chariot. Her bandaged hands didn’t match the dress, but the color did something to her skin, highlighting her unusual tinge, and Enjolras had to admit it made her look pleasant.  
He hadn’t noticed she turning around or the thin, arching brow, inquisitive glare in the stormy, hazel eyes as one corner of her lips tugged to the side, making one dimple dig her olive cheek, her has resting tightly around the waist in her suggestive flourish.   
“It’s rude to stare, Monsieur.” He controlled himself not to let his favorite color stain his face.   
And when he didn’t answer her taunt, he saw a hint of constraint lying on face, her arms embracing herself soon after and her face going downwards on averaging seconds.   
“Mademoiselles, I apologize interrupting your lovely tour. However, I may introduce myself as your chamberlain, Beni.” He bowed slightly towards them and Musichetta curtsied him back, taken aback at the old and polished monsieur with her bright smile on her face.  
Éponine, though, nodded and looked at his face, self-conscious for reasons unknown to Enjolras. He felt his eyebrows furrowing at the upset glare she sent him and, then, he was concerned.  
“And I assume you are…” Beni continued, a soft smile in his face as he wandered his eyes from Musichetta and Éponine.  
“Musichetta Dubet.” The opera singer answered melodically, and Beni met the mistress of his young master, amused by her charisma.  
Éponine was awkward under his gaze and Enjolras was about to answer for her, but she composed herself and lifted her chin high, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes spread in her lips “Éponine Thérnadier.” And Beni nodded understandingly, familiar with the name, not recoiling at the moment where. The gamine curtsied him, hence, bowing her head smoothly “Merci, Monsieur, for having us.”   
“No need for thanking me, Mademoiselle.” Beni waved her off, and sent her a tranquilizer gaze “No need for calling me monsieur, also.” And there was this smirk on her face, forcing Enjolras mind back to his dream, the Éponine from before the barricade.  
“No need calling me Mademoiselle, then.” She arched her brow and the butler agreed “Just Éponine.”  
“Me too!” Musichetta jumped in the conversation, absentmindly and linking her arms with Éponine “Beni, have you seen Morrice?”   
“Indeed, he has just gone to his chambers.” Enjolras answered politely, eyeing the old man who agreed to let him speak “He asked you to join him after been shown to your chambers.” And Musichetta was blushing heavily, though the smile tugged in her joyful face, nodding at him.  
“Shall we go, then? You’d like to rest before dinner, I suppose.” Beni rubbed his lined hands and made his way back to the parlor, Musichetta letting go of Éponine and talking loud with him, vivacious and hopping.  
Éponine walked slowly behind them and Enjolras joined her side soon enough, noticing that she hasn’t look him in the eye since she had greeted him in the balcony.  
“Are you feeling ill?” he asked, dubious at her unlocking eyes.  
“No.”  
He frowned, narrowing his eyes “Why will you not look at me?” he asked bluntly and Éponine shrugged.  
“I don’t feel like looking at you.” He snorted at her reply.   
“What have I done for that deserves being ignored?” Enjolras hissed for Beni and Musichetta not to listen their argument.  
“I’m not ignoring you.” She answered in a beat, her eyes rolling up as she spotted the butler and the singer walking up the stairs in the main hall, gesturing towards many paintings in the walls “I’m only not looking at you.”  
“It would be very welcome if you would tell me why.” He wondered scoffing, his face serious though.  
“It would be very welcome if you would stop staring at me as I’m your wandering nightmare.” Enjolras furrowed his eyebrows and saw her eyes almost betraying her, coming to his direction in sideways.  
She controlled them and straightened her vision once more.  
Damn it!   
“I do not look at you as if you were my wandering nightmare.” He told honestly and she gripped a handful of the skirt, pulling it up to climb the stairs while following Beni and Musichetta, her chin high and her eyes avoiding him “It makes no sense…”  
“Of course it doesn’t.” now she had finally turned to face him, her eyes unforgiving and upset, her eyebrows skeptical and her lips downward “You forgot me.” And he was gaping at her, noticing her closed fists at her sides.  
After that, Éponine bolt to the top of the stairs, leaving Enjolras to walk alone and lost in his thoughts, not regretting telling that to him – though she was sure her burning, annoyed and embarrassed face would give her feelings away anytime.  
She saw his stoic and unpleasant face at her in the balcony, his indigo eyes wandering the large clothes around her and making her feel most inferior, if it was even possible. She knew she was awful in Musichetta’s beautiful gown; he didn’t have to make it look worse than it was! He didn’t even reply her taunt in clear disgusted by her looks!  
Spoiled bourgeois! She huffed, hot tempered and closing her eyes to keep her face nonchalant.  
Beni glanced at them over his shoulders, spotting a slightly dumbfounded Enjolras struggling to keep the pace with them, hence darting his eyes to the feisty brunette holding her chin high, her face impetuous.  
Children…

**Author's Note:**

> So... Are you guys leaving me some love? Any love at all? :D Tell me what you think of it - you can even slap me through the review. :3  
> This fic is also being published at FF.net, so if you have an account there also and wanna know anything, you can pm me or give me some reviews. I'll gladly answer to them all. :D  
> See ya! ♥


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